DENOUNCED 


Hppletons' 

TTown  an&  Country 

Xibrarp 

No.  200 


DENOUNCED 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR. 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  ADVERSITY. 

A  ROMANCE.     i2mo.     Paper,   50 
cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"We  do  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  Mr.  Bloun- 
delle-Burton's  new  romance  will  be  very  hard  to 
beat  in  its  own  particular  line.  In  his  previous 
works  Mr.  Burton  gave  evidence  which  entitled  him 
to  a  very  prominent  place  among  the  writers  of  his 
class ;  and  now,  at  another  bound,  he  has  leaped 
into  the  foremost  rank.  If  he  only  keeps  up  to  the 
level  of  '  In  the  Day  of  Adversity,'  he  must  continue 
to  rank  as  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  popular 
writers  of  the  day.  .  .  .  Mr.  Burton's  creative  skill 
is  of  the  kind  which  must  fascinate  those  who  revel 
in  the  narratives  of  Stevenson,  Rider  Haggard,  and 
Stanley  Weyman.  Even  the  author  of  '  A  Gentle- 
man of  France'  has  not  surpassed  the  writer  of 
1  In  the  Day  of  Adversity '  in  the  moving  interest 
of  his  tale." — St.  James's  Gazette. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  Co.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


DENOUNCED 


A   ROMANCE 


BY 


JOHN   BLOUNDELLE-BURTON 

AUTHOR   OF 
IN    THE    DAY   OF   ADVERSITY,    THE    HISPANIOLA    PLATE,    ETC. 


"  The  adder  lies  i'  the  corbie's  nest." 

JACOBITE  BALLAD 


NEW     YORK 
D.    APPLETON    AND     COMPANY 

1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — A  HOME  COMING I 

II. — A  SUBJECT  OF  KING  GEORGE       ....  12 

III. — A  WOMAN'S  LETTER       .        .        .        .        .        .21 

IV. — THE  SUBJECTS  OF  KING  JAMES    ....  32 

V. — MY   LORD   GOES   OUT   OF  TOWN        ....  39 

VI. — KATE  MAKES  AN  APPOINTMENT     ....  53 

VII. — "  THE  BIRD   THAT   DANCED    THE   RIGADOON  "          .  63 

VIII. — "FORTUNE!  AN  UNRELENTING  FOE  TO  LOVE"     .  75 

IX. — DENOUNCED 86 

X. — HOW   MY   LORD   RETURNED   HOME  ....  99 

XI. — ARCHIBALD'S  ESCAPE no 

XII. — HEY  !  FOR  FRANCE 122 

XIII. — MAN  AND  WIFE 131 

XIV.— FLIGHT  .........  143 

XV. — UNITED  .       .        . '    ~~. 155 

XVI. — "TREASON  HAS  DONE  HIS  WORST"      .        .        .  169 

XVII. — GASCONISM 179 

XVIII. — "WHAT  FACE  THAT  HAUNTS  ME?"     .        .        .  192 
XIX.— "WHICH    WAY    i    FLY    is    HELL — MYSELF    AM 

HELL!" .  203 

XX. — AVENGED 213 

XXI.— THE  BASTILLE 227 

XXII. — DESPAIR  ! 242 

XXIII. — AT  LAST 253 

XXIV. — BROKEN  HEARTS 265 

v 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV. — "  HIS   HOURS   TO  THEIR   LAST   MINUTE  MOUNTED  "  277 

XXVI. — KATE  LEARNS  SHE  is  FREE 288 

XXVII. — AFAR  OFF  STILL 300 

XXVIII. — "A   KIND   OF   CHANGE   CAME  IN   MY    FATE"   .           .  31! 

XXIX.— FREE 322 

XXX. — THE  MARQUIS  GOES  HOME 335 

XXXI. — "AN   OUTSTAYED   WELCOME"           ....  347 

XXXII. — "  LOVE  STRONG  AS  DEATH!"         ....  359 

APPENDIX 364 


DENOUNCED. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A    HOME   COMING. 

IT  was  a  wild  and  stormy  sea  through  which  the 
bluff-bowed  Galliot  laboured,  as,  tossed  first  from  one 
wave  to  another,  she,  with  the  best  part  of  her  gear 
stowed  away  and  no  sail  on  her  but  a  close-reefed  main- 
topsail  and  a  spanker,  endeavoured  to  make  her  way 
towards  the  Suffolk  coast.  On  the  poop,  the  captain — 
a  young  man  of  not  more  than  thirty — hurled  orders 
and  oaths  indiscriminately  at  his  crew,  every  man  of 
which  was  a  good  deal  older  than  himself,  while  the 
crew  themselves  worked  hard  at  hauling  up  the  brails, 
going  out  on  the  gaff  to  pass  the  gaskets,  and  stowing 
the  mainsail-yard.  But  still  she  laboured  and  rolled 
and  yawed,  her  forefoot  pointing  at  one  moment  al- 
most to  the  Dutch  coast  and  at  another  to  the  Eng- 
lish— she  had  left  Calais  thirty  hours  before,  intending 
to  fetch  Dover,  and  had  been  blown  thus  far  out  of 
her  course — and  it  seemed  as  though  she  would  never 
get  any  nearer  to  the  land  she  wished  to  reach.  And, 
to  make  matters  worse,  lying  some  distance  off  on  her 
starboard  beam — though  too  far  to  be  distinguished 
through  the  haze  in  the  air  and  the  spume  of  the 


2  DENOUNCED. 

waves — was  a  large  vessel  about  which  those  on  board 
could  not  decide  as  to  whether  she  was  one  of  King 
George's  sloops  or — a  privateer.  The  young  captain 
trusted  it  was  the  first,  since  he  had  no  quarrel  with 
either  his  Majesty  or  his  navy,  and  had  no  men  who 
could  be  pressed,  while  the  passengers  in  the  cabin — 
but  this  you  shall  read. 

In  that  cabin  there  sat  four  persons,  three  men 
and  a  woman — the  last  of  whom  shall  be  first  de- 
scribed. A  woman  young — of  not  more  than  twenty- 
four  years  of  age — fair  and  well-favoured,  her  wheat- 
coloured  hair  brought  back  in  a  knot  behind  her  head, 
above  which,  as  was  still  the  custom  of  the  time  for 
ladies  when  travelling,  she  wore  a  three-cornered  hat. 
Wrapped  in  a  long,  collarless  coat,  square  cut  and  pos- 
sessing no  pockets — also  the  custom  of  the  time — it 
was  still  easy  to  perceive  that,  underneath,  was  a  sup- 
ple, graceful  figure,  and,  when — as  was  occasionally 
the  case — this  long  coat  was  thrown  open  so  that  the 
wearer  might  get  a  little  relief  from  the  stuffiness  of 
the  cabin,  the  beauty  of  that  figure  might  plainly  be 
perceived  beneath  the  full  scarlet  waistcoat  embroid- 
ered with  gold  lace,  which,  by  its  plenitude  of  pockets, 
atoned  for  the  absence  of  any  in  the  coat.  Her  face 
was,  as  has  been  said,  a  well-favoured  one,  oval,  and 
possessing  large  blue  eyes  and  delicate,  thin  lips,  and 
with  upon  it  even  here,  on  this  tossing  sea,  a  fair  rose 
and  milk  complexion,  while  in  those  large  eyes  the  ob- 
server might  have  well  imagined  he  saw  a  look  of  un- 
happiness.  Also,  too,  a  look  of  contempt  whenever 
they  rested  on  the  man  who,  as  she  leant  an  elbow  on 
one  side  of  the  table  between  them,  leant  one  of  his  on 
the  other. 

They  rested  on  him  now  with  much  that  look  as, 


A   HOME   COMING.  3 

pushing  over  to  her  a  glass  of  burnt  wine  which  the 
cabin-boy  has  just  brought  in  at  his  orders,  as  well 
as  some  ratafia  biscuits,  he  said  : 

"  I  would  counsel  you,  my  lady,  to  partake  of  a 
little  more  refreshment.  I  have  spoken  with  the  mas- 
ter outside  who  says  that  by  no  chance  can  we  make 
Harwich  ere  nightfall.  Your  ladyship,  excellent  sailor 
as  you  are,  must  have  a  care  to  your  health." 

"  My  health,"  she  replied,  "  needs  no  care,  either 
from  myself  or  you.  And  when  I  am  athirst  I  will 
drink,  as  when  I  am  hungry  I  will  eat.  You  had  best 
offer  your  refreshments  to  our  fellow-passengers." 

The  man  to  whom  she  spake  was  but  two  or  three 
years  older  than  herself — and  was  her  husband,  Simeon 
Larpent,  Viscount  Fordingbridge.  He,  too,  was  well 
dressed  in  the  travelling  costume  of  the  day,  wearing 
a  black  frock  with  a  gold  button,  a  black  waistcoat 
trimmed  with  gold,  black  velvet  breeches,  and  a  gold- 
laced  three-cornered  hat,  while  on  the  table  lay  a  sil- 
ver-hilted  hanger  that  slid  about  with  every  motion 
of  the  vessel.  In  looks  he  was  her  equal,  being,  how- 
ever, as  dark  as  she  was  fair,  but  of  well-cut,  even 
features  and  of  a  clear  complexion.  He  wore,  too,  his 
natural  hair,  cropped  somewhat  short  as  though  a  wig 
might  in  other  circumstances  be  easily  assumed,  but 
the  absence  of  this  article  of  dress  in  no  way  detracted 
from  his  appearance. 

As  her  ladyship  spoke  he  darted  one  swift  glance 
at  her  from  under  his  eyelids — a  glance  that  seemed 
to  embody  in  it  a  full  return  of  all  the  coldness  and 
contempt  with  which  she  had  addressed  him;  and 
then,  acting  on  her  suggestion,  he  turned  to  the  two 
other  inhabitants  of  the  cabin  and  said  : 

"  Come,  Father  Sholto,  and  you,  Fane,  come  and 


4  DENOUNCED. 

take  a  sup  of  the  liquor.  'Twill  do  you  both  good. 
Come  and  drink." 

"Ah,  the  drink,  the  drink,"  exclaimed  the  latter, 
"  well,  give  me  a  sup.  Maybe  'twill  appease  a  qualm. 
Kitty,  me  child,"  turning  to  Lady  Fordingbridge,  "  why 
do  ye  not  do  as  your  husband  asks  ?  Tis  a  good 
stomachic — by  the  powers !  how  the  barky  rolls." 

"  I  want  nothing,"  her  ladyship  replied,  lifting  "her 
eyes  to  him  with  almost  as  contemptuous  a  glance  as 
when  she  had  previously  raised  them  to  her  husband, 
and  then  relapsing  again  into  silence. 

"  I,  too,"  said  the  other  man,  who  had  been  ad- 
dressed as  "  Father  Sholto,"  "  will  take  a  sup,  she  does 
roll  badly.  Yet,  my  lord,"  he  said,  as  he  poured  some 
out  into  a  mug  that  stood  by  the  liquor,  "  let  me  per- 
suade you  to  be  more  guarded  in  your  expressions. 
To  forget,  indeed,"  he  went  on,  while  his  cold  grey 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  other,  "  that  there  is  such  a  per- 
son as  '  Father  Sholto '  in  existence  for  the  present ; 
that  such  a  well-known  ecclesiastic  is  travelling  in 
your  Lordship's  esteemed  company.  For,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  swallowing  the  liquor  at  a  gulp,  "  I  do  as- 
sure you — Fane,  see  that  the  door  of  the  cabin  is  fast ! 
and  that  none  of  the  crew  are  about ! — you  could  not 
make  your  entry  into  your  own  country,  could  not  re- 
turn to  make  your  peace  with  King  George,  the  Elector 
of  Hanover — with  a  worse  companion  in  your  train 
than  the  man  who  is  known  as  '  Father  Sholto.' 
Therefore " 

"Therefore,"  interrupted  Lord  Fordingbridge  im- 
patiently, "  I  will  not  forget  again,  Mr.  Archibald. 
Enough ! " 

"  Therefore,"  continued  the  other,  as  though  no  in- 
terruption had  occurred,  still  in  the  cold,  low  voice 


A   HOME   COMING. 


5 


and  still  with  the  cold  grey  eyes  fixed  on  his  lordship, 
"  it  is  best  you  do  not  forget,  at  least,  at  present. 
Later,  if  your  memory  fails  you — I  have  known  it 
treacherous  ere  now — it  will  be  of  little  importance. 
Charles  Edward,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  is  at  Edinburgh, 
soon  he  will  be  at  St.  James' ;  but  until  he  is,  remem- 
ber what  we  are.  You  are  the  Viscount  Fording- 
bridge,  but  lately  succeeded  to  your  father's  title,  and 
a  convert  from  his  Jacobitism  to  Hanoverian  princi- 
ples; her  ladyship  here,  who  is  ever  to  be  depended 
upon,  follows  your  estimable  political  principles;  her 
respected  father,  Mr.  Doyle  Fane,  has,  he  avers,  no 
politics  at  all ;  and  I  am  Mr.  Archibald,  a  Scotch  mer- 
chant. You  will  remember  ?" 

"Peste!  Yes.  I  will  remember.  Tutor  me  no 
more.  Now,  Fane,  the  sea  abates  somewhat — go  and 
discover  if  we  are  near  the  English  coast.  And,  Mr. 
Archibald,  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  my  lady  here,  with 
your  permission.  As  I  am  at  the  expense  of  this  pas- 
sage, may  I  ask  for  a  moment's  privacy  with  her? 
Doubtless  the  air  on  the  deck  will  refresh  you  both." 

"Precisely,"  replied  the  other.  "We  will  not  in- 
trude unless  it  grows  again  so  rough  that  we  cannot 
remain  on  deck.  Come,  Fane." 

When  both  had  left  the  cabin  Lord  Fordingbridge 
turned  to  his  wife  who  still  sat,  as  she  had  done  from 
the  beginning  of  Mr.  Archibald's  remarks,  indifferent 
and  motionless  as  though  in  no  way  interested  in  what 
had  passed,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  You  hear,  madam,  the  circumstances  in  which  I 
return  to  my  own.  'Tis  not  too  agreeable,  I  protest. 
We  are  Roman  Catholics,  yet  we  come  as  Protestants, 
Jacobites,  yet  under  the  garb  and  mask  of  Hanoveri- 
ans. And  in  our  train  a  Jesuit  priest,  arch-plotter, 


6  DENOUNCED. 

and  schemer,  who  passes  as  a  respectable  Scotch  mer- 
chant. A  sorry  home  coming,  indeed  !  " 

"  If  such  duplicity  is  painful  to  your  lordship's 
mind,"  his  wife  remarked,  "  'twould  almost  have  been 
best  to  have  remained  in  exile.  Then  you  would  have 
been  safe,  at  least,  and  have  done  no  outrage  to  your 
— conscience.  And,  later,  when  those  who  are  fighting 
for  Prince  Charles  have  re-established  him  upon  his 
grandfather's  throne — if  they  ever  do  ! — you  could 
have  declared  yourself  without  fear  of  consequences." 

No  word,  nor  tone  of  her  sneer  was  lost  upon 
Lord  Fordingbridge,  and  he  turned  savagely  upon 
her. 

"Have  a  care,  my  lady,"  he  exclaimed,  "have  a 
care.  There  are  ways  in  my  power  you  little  dream 
of  by  which  if  your  defiance " 

"  Defiance  !  "  exclaimed  her  ladyship.  "  Defiance  ! 
You  dare  to  use  that  term  to  me.  You !  " 

"Ay!  Defiance.  What!  Shall  the  daughter  of 
Doyle  Fane,  the  broken-down  Irish  adventurer,  the 
master  of  the  fence  school  in  the  Rue  Trousse  Vache, 
flout  and  gibe  me — the  man  who  took  her  from  a  gar- 
ret and  made  her  a  lady — a  peeress.  I — I — " 

"Yes!"  she  replied.  "You!  You — who  have 
earned  for  ever  her  undying  hatred  by  doing  so;  by 
making  her  a  lady  by  lies,  by  intriguing,  by  duplicity. 
A  lady  !  Yet  your  wife !  Had  you  left  me  in  the  Rue 
Trousse  Vache — in  the  garret  over  the  fence  school — 
whose  wife  should  I  have  been  now  ?  Answer  that, 
Simeon  Larpent,  answer  that." 

"  The  wife  of  a  man,"  he  said,  quietly  and  calm 
again  in  a  moment,  for  he  had  the  power  to  allay  the 
tempestuous  gusts  that  overtook  him  occasionally 
almost  as  quickly  as  they  arose,  "  who,  if  the  fates 


A    HOME   COMING.  7 

are  not  more  propitious  than  I  deem  they  will  be, 
rides  at  the  present  moment  to  his  doom,  to  a  halter 
that  awaits  him.  A  man  who  rides  on  a  fruitless  jour- 
ney to  England  as  volunteer  with  his  cousin  Balme- 
rino  in  the  train  of  Charles  Edward ;  a  man " 

"  Whom,"  she  interrupted  again,  "  I  loved  with  my 
whole  heart  and  soul ;  whom  I  loved  from  the  first, 
hour  my  eyes  ever  gazed  on  him.  A  man  whom  you 
separated  me  from  with  your  Jesuitical  lies — they  did 
well  to  educate  you  at  Lisbon  and  St.  Omer — a  man 
who,  if  God  is  just,  as  I  do  believe,  shall  yet  live  to 
take  a  desperate  vengeance  on  you.  And  for  the  rea- 
son that  he  may  do  so,  I  pray  night  and  day  that 
Charles  Edward  will  fight  his  way  to  London.  Then 
you  must  meet — unless  you  flee  back  to  France  again 
— then,  Lord  Fordingbridge,  you  must  stand  face  to 
face  with  him  at  last.  Then " 

"  Then  you  trust  to  be  a  widow.  Is  it  not  so,  my 
lady  ?  You  will  be  free  then,  and  Bertie  Elphinston 
may  have  the  bride  I  stole  from  him.  Is  that  your 
devout  aspiration?" 

"Alas,  no  !  "  she  replied.  "  Or,  if  it  is,  it  can  never 
come  to  pass.  If  Bertie  Elphinston  saw  me  now  he 
would  shrink  from  me.  He  would  not  touch  my  hand. 
He  would  pass  across  the  street  to  avoid  me." 

As  she  uttered  the  last  words  there  came  from 
over  the  swirling,  troubled  sea  the  boom  of  a  cannon, 
accompanied  a  moment  afterwards  by  harsh  cries  and 
orders  from  the  deck  of  the  Galliot,  and  by  the  rat- 
tling of  cordage  and  a  sudden  cessation  of  the  slight 
way  that  was  still  on  the  vessel. 

"  What  does  that  gun  mean  ? "  asked  Lord  Fording- 
bridge as  he  started  to  his  feet,  while  Fane  and  Mr. 
Archibald  re-entered  the  cabin  hastily. 


8  DENOUNCED. 

"  It  means,"  said  the  disguised  Jesuit,  who  spoke 
as  coolly  and  calmly  as  ever,  "  that  the  vessel  which 
has  been  following  us  since  dawn  is  King  George's — 
he  forgot  on  this  occasion  to  term  the  English  king 
'  the  Elector  of  Hanover  ' — Bomb-ketch  the  '  Furnace.' 
She  has  fired  the  gun  to  bring  us  to.  Doubtless  they 
wish  to  inspect  our  papers  and  to  see  there  are  no 
malignant  priests  or  Jacobites  on  board.  We  are  now 
in  English  waters  and  within  two  miles  of  Harwich, 
therefore  they  are  quite  within  their  rights." 

"  Bah  !  "  exclaimed  his  lordship.  "  Let  them  come. 
What  have  we  to  fear  ? " 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  replied  Mr.  Archibald.  "  The 
Viscount  Fordingbridge  is  an  accession  to  the  usurper's 
Whig  peers;  a  harmless  Irish  gentleman,  such  as  Mr. 
Doyle  Fane,  and  a  simple  Scotch  merchant,  such  as  I, 
can  do  no  harm.  While  for  her  ladyship  here " 

"Come,  come  on  deck,"  said  his  lordship,  "and 
let  us  see  what  is  doing.  Will  it  please  you  to  remain 
here,  my  lady  ?"  he  asked,  turning  to  his  wife  with  an 
evil  glance  in  his  eye. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  if  they  wish  to  see  me  I  shall 
be  found  here." 

The  sea  had  abated  considerably  by  now,  so  that 
already  a  boat  had  been  lowered  from  the  ketch, 
which  was  not  more  than  five  cables  length  from  the 
Galliot  by  the  time  they  reached  the  deck.  It  was 
manned  by  a  dozen  sailors  while  an  officer  sat  in  the 
stern  sheets,  and  the  brawny  arms  of  the  men  soon 
brought  it  alongside.  Then,  while  the  seamen  kept 
the  boat  off  the  Galliot  with  their  hands  and  oars,  the 
officer  seized  the  man-ropes  thrown  over  to  him,  and 
easily  sprang  up  the  accommodation  ladder  on  to  the 
deck. 


A   HOME   COMING.  g 

"  What  vessel  is  this  ? "  he  asked  fiercely  of  the 
captain,  "and  what  passengers  do  you  carry?" 

"  It  is  the  Bravermann,  of  Rotterdam,  sir,"  the 
young  captain  replied,  u  chartered  at  Calais  to  bring 
his  lordship  and  wife  with  two  other  passengers  to 
Dover.  We  are  blown  off  our  course,  however, 
and " 

"  Where  are  these  passengers  ?  "  asked  the 
officer. 

"  Here  is  one,"  said  Lord  Fordingbridge,  coming 
forward,  "  and  here  two  others  whom  I  have  accom- 
modated with  a  passage.  Her  ladyship  is  in  the 
cabin." 

"Your  papers,  if  you  please." 

His  lordship  produced  from  his  pocket  two  large 
documents,  duly  signed  by  the  English  ambassador 
and  countersigned  by  the  first  secretary  of  the  Lega- 
tion, while  to  them  was  also  affixed  a  stamp  of  the 
Mairie  ;  and  the  lieutenant,  for  such  he  was,  glanced 
over  them,  compared  the  description  of  the  viscount 
with  that  of  the  person  before  him,  and  then  said  he 
must  see  her  ladyship. 

"  Come  this  way  then,"  the  other  replied,  and  led 
him  into  the  cabin.  "  My  lady,"  he  said  to  his  wife, 
"  this  gentleman  wishes  to  compare  you  with  your 
description  on  our  passports." 

Very  calmly  Lady  Fordingbridge  turned  her  eyes 
on  the  lieutenant  as  he,  touching  his  hat  to  her, 
glanced  at  the  paper  and  retired  saying  he  was  satis- 
fied. Then,  turning  to  the  others,  he  said,  "  Now  your 
passports,  quick." 

Fane  and  Mr.  Archibald  also  passed  his  scrutiny, 
though  once  he  looked  under  his  eyelids  at  the  latter 
as  if  to  make  sure  he  was  the  man  whose  description 


I0  DENOUNCED. 

he  held  in  his  hand,  and  then  their  passports  were  also 
returned  to  them. 

"Let  me  see  over  the  ship  and  also  her  papers,"  he 
said  to  the  captain,  and  when  this  was  done  he  seemed 
satisfied  that  his  duty  had  been  performed. 

"You  may  proceed,"  he  said.  "Call  the  boat 
away,"  and  with  such  scant  ceremony  he  went  to  the 
ship's  side  and  prepared  to  re-embark  in  his  own 
cutter. 

"  Pardon  me,"  exclaimed  the  viscount,  stopping 
him,  "but  we  have  heard  strange  rumours  in  Paris  of 
a  landing  effected  in  Scotland  by  the  Prince  of — the 
person  known  as  the  Young  Pretender.  Also  we  have 
heard  he  has  reached  Edinburgh  and  been  joined  by 
many  persons  of  position  in  Scotland,  and  that  an 
English  army  has  set  forth  to  oppose  his  further  march. 
Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  if  this  is  true  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  whatever  on  the  subject,"  replied 
the  lieutenant,  curtly  as  usual.  "  His  Majesty's  land 
forces  concern  us  not ;  our  account  is  on  the  sea. 
And  our  duty  is  to  search  all  unknown  vessels  proceed- 
ing to  England  to  see  that  they  bear  neither  Jacobites, 
pestilential  priests,  arms,  nor  money  with  them.  Is 
the  boat  there  ? " 

Hearing  that  she  had  again  come  alongside,  having 
kept  off  the  Galliot  to  prevent  her  being  stowed  in,  he 
descended  swiftly  to  her  without  deigning  to  award 
the  slightest  salute  to  anyone  on  board.  But  as  his 
men  pulled  off  he  saw  the  face  of  Lady  Fordingbridge 
gazing  out  from  the  cabin  porthole,  and  raised  his  hat 
to  her. 

"  Yet,"  said  Mr.  Archibald  to  the  viscount,  as  they 
sat  once  more  in  the  cabin  while  the  vessel  now  en- 
tered smooth  water  and  drew  close  in  to  Harwich, 


A  HOME   COMING.  II 

"  whatever  his  duty  may  be  he  has  not  been  wondrous 
happy  in  carrying  it  out.  For  there  are  Jacobites,  a 
pestilential  priest,  and  money  for  the  cause  all  in  this 
ship  together,  arms  alone  being  wanting.  Faugh  !  he 
was  a  rough  sea-dog,  yet  none  too  good  a  setter. 
Well,  well.  Perhaps  in  this  town  we  may  glean  some 
news." 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    SUBJECT    OF    KING    GEORGE. 

THE  month  of  May,  1746,  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
and  June  was  already  giving  signs  of  its  approach,  as 
my  Lord  Viscount  Fordingbridge  sat  in  the  library  of 
his  house  in  Kensington-square  and  warmed  his  feet  at 
the  fire  which,  in  spite  of  the  genial  spring  weather, 
burned  pleasantly  on  the  hearth.  By  his  side,  on  a 
table,  lay  the  morning  papers  of  the  day  to  which  he 
constantly  referred,  and  which,  after  each  occasion  of 
doing  so,  he  threw  down  with  a  very  palpable  expres- 
sion of  satisfaction. 

"In  truth,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "nought  could 
have  gone  much  better.  I  am  safe  and — and  the 
necks  of  all  the  rest  are  jeopardised.  Jeopardised ! 
Nay !  'tis  much  worse  than  that.  Those  who  are 
caught  must  surely  die,  those  who  are  not  caught  must 
be  so  ere  long.  As  for  Charles  Edward  himself  he 
hath  escaped.  Well,  let  him  go ;  I  have  no  quarrel 
with  him." 

Again  he  took  up  one  of  the  journals  and  read : 

"This  morning  his  Majesty's  ship  of  war,  Exeter, 
arrived  from  Scotland,  having  on  board  the  Earls  of 
Cromartie  and  Kilmarnock,  and  the  Lord  Balmerino. 
They  have  been  committed  prisoners  to  the  Tower  on 
a  charge  of  high  treason."  "Ah,"  he  mused,  "that's 
well,  so  far  as  it  goes,  though  for  myself  I  care  not 


A  SUBJECT   OF   KING  GEORGE.  13 

whether  their  lordships  finish  on  Tower  Hill  or  are  set 
free.  Fools  all !  Yet  they  were  near  winning,  the 
devil  seize  them !  had  they  but  pushed  on  from  Derby 
they  must  have  won,  and  the  German  who  now  sits 
secure  would  never  have  had  my  allegiance.  Charles 
Edward  would  have  transformed  my  title  into  that  of 
a  marquis,  I  doubt  me  if  George  will  do  as  much  in 
reward  for  my  change  of  politics.  But  what  I  would 
fain  know  is,  where  is  the  wolf  Elphinston,  Balmerino's 
cousin  ?  He  fought  at  Culloden,  I  know  well — reck- 
lessly, like  a  man  sick  of  life.  Perhaps  'twas  for  his 
lost  love,  Kitty !  At  least  in  Hawley's  despatch  he  is 
mentioned  as  having  killed  four  men  of  Barrell's  regi- 
ment with  his  own  blade.  May  Fate  confound  him  !  if 
taken  his  life  is  forfeit,  but  where  is  he  ? " 

A  knock  came  at  the  library  door  as  he  mused,  and 
in  reply  to  his  answer  Mr.  Archibald  entered.  As 
usual,  certainly  since  he  left  France,  he  was  clothed  as 
became  the  part  he  had  now  assumed,  of  a  well-to-do 
Scotch  merchant,  there  being  only  one  new  addition  to 
any  portion  of  his  dress.  His  hat,  which  he  threw 
carelessly  upon  the  table,  on  the  top  of  his  lordship's 
journals,  bore  in  it  the  black  cockade ! 

"  Ha,  ha !  my  worthy  merchant,"  exclaimed  Lord 
Fordingbridge,  as  his  quick  eye  perceived  this,  "  my 
worthy  dealer  in  brocades,  broadcloth,  and  Colchester 
baize,  so  already  thou  trimmest  the  sails  to  catch  the 
favouring  German  breezes.  'Tis  well."  • 

"  Stop  this  fooling,"  said  the  Jesuit,  looking  angrily 
at  him ;  "  is  this  the  time  for  you  to  be  joking  and 
jeering  when  everything  is  lost  ?  You  have  the  jour- 
nals there,  you  know  well  what  has  happened.  The 
principals  of  the  noblest  cause,  of  the  most  sublime 
restoration  that  would  have  ever  taken  place,  are 


I4  DENOUNCED. 

prisoners  with  their  lives  in  forfeit,  some  in  London, 
some  in  Carlisle  gaol,  and  some  at  Inverness,  and 
you  sit  gibing  there.  Pardieu!  sometimes  I  think 
you  are  a  fool  instead  of  the  knave  I  once  deemed 
you." 

"  If,"  said  the  viscount,  scowling  at  the  other  as  he 
spoke,  "  you  deem  yourself  called  upon  to  address  me 
in  such  a  manner,  I  shall  be  forced,  Mr.  Archibald,  to 
also  alter  my  style  of  address  to  you,  and  to  speak 
both  to  and  of  you  as  the  Reverend  Archibald  Sholto, 
priest  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  and  an  avowed  Jaco- 
bite. And  you  will  remember  that  here,  in  England, 
at  such  a  moment  as  this,  to  be  so  proclaimed  could 
not  be  otherwise  than  fraught  with  unpleasant  con- 
sequences to  you.  Moreover,  you  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  remember  that  now  —  since  the  disastrous 
events,  to  your  side,  of  Culloden,  the  Viscount  Ford- 
ingbridge is  a  fervent  Hanoverian." 

"  I  will  remember,"  said  the  priest,  "  that  however 
desirous  the  Viscount  Fordingbridge  may  be  to  es- 
pouse the  cause  of  the  House  of  Hanover,  it  is  not  in 
his  power  to  do  so,  so  long  as  there  remains  one 
Stuart  to  assert  a  claim  to  the  throne  of  his  ances- 
tors. When  that  race  ceases  to  exist,  when  no  living 
Stuart  is  left  to  call  for  aid,  then  perhaps,  you  may 
be  permitted  to  become  Hanoverian,  not  before. 
Now,  my  Lord  Fordingbridge,  listen  to  me,  while  I 
go  over  tTie  cards  I  hold  in  my  hand  against  Simeon 
Larpent,  my  whilom  scholar  at  St.  Omer,  who " 

"  Nay  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  "  do  nothing  of  the 
sort.  I  retract,  I  had  forgotten.  Recall  nothing. 
Yet,  for  my  safety,  I  must  appear  an  adherent  of 
King  George.  Indeed,  to-morrow  I  attend  his 
levee." 


A  SUBJECT  OF  KING  GEORGE.  15 

"For  the  good  of  the  Stuart  cause,"  the  other  said, 
"  you  will  continue  as  you  have  begun  since  your  re- 
turn to  this  country,  to  appear  an  adherent  of  this 
King  George ;  for  the  good  of  the  cause  that  is  not 
yet  lost.  There  will  be  another  rising  ere  long,  be 
sure  of  that ;  if  it  comes  not  before,  it  will  do  so  at 
the  death  of  the  present  usurper.  Now,  listen  to  the 
news  I  bring  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  the  other  asked,  while  he  paled  as 
he  did  so.  "  What  ?  " 

"  The  worst  that  you  can  hear.  Elphinston  is  in 
London." 

"  Elphinston  here  !  Is  he  mad  ?  His  life  is  not 
worth  an  hour's  purchase." 

"  He  knows  that,"  replied  the  Jesuit  coolly,  "  as 
well  as  you  or  I  do.  Yet  he  heeds  it  not.  Why 
should  he  ?  Are  not  other  men's  lives  doomed  who 
are  now  in  London  ?  Men  who,"  he  went  on,  speak- 
ing coldly  and  with  great  distinctness,  "  brought 
money  into  England  to  aid  the  cause ;  men,"  still 
his  voice  fell  more  and  more  crisp  upon  the  other's 
ear,  "  who  did  endeavour  to  compass  the  death  of 
George  as  he  returned  from  his  last  visit  to  Herren- 
hausen  ;  men  who " 

"  Silence,  you  Jesuit  devil,"  interrupted  the  other. 
"  Sometimes  I  wonder  that  you  do  not  fear  to  speak 
as  you  do  ;  that  you  do  not  dread  that  your  own 
death  may  be  compassed." 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  replied  the  priest,  taking  snuff 
as  he  spoke,  "  so  long  as  the  walls  of  St.  Omer  con- 
tain my  papers.  Rather  should  I  fear  for  those 
whose  secrets  would  be  divulged  if  I  were  to  die. 
To  die  even  suddenly,  without  being  assassinated." 

"  Well !     to    your    news,"    exclaimed     the    other. 


iQ  DENOUNCED. 

"  What  of  Elphinston !  Where  does  he  hide  himself 
away  ? " 

"  At  the  moment,"  answered  the  priest,  "  he — and 
my  brother  Douglas " 

"  So  he  is  here,  too  !  " 

"  He  is  here,  too.  They  dwell  together  in  lodg- 
ings at  the  village  of  Wandsworth.  Perhaps  later,  if 
it  goes  ill  with  Balmerino,  they  may  remove  into  the 
City." 

"  To  make  some  mad  attempt  to  save  him  !  " 

"  Possibly.  Meanwhile,  do  you  not  dread  to  meet 
the  man  yourself  !  You  stole  his  bride  from  him,  you 
will  remember,  and  now  he  suspects  how  you  brought 
it  about.  How  will  you  answer  to  him  for  the  false- 
hoods by  which  you  persuaded  her  that  he  was 
already  the  husband  of  another  woman  ?  " 

"  By  my  sword,"  Lord  Fordingbridge  replied — 
though  at  the  moment  he  was  thinking  of  a  far 
different  manner  in  which  Bertie  Elphinstone  should 
be  answered. 

"  It  will  be  your  only  plan,"  Sholto  said.  "  For  by 
treachery  you  can  accomplish  nothing.  If  Elphinston 
is  blown  upon  he  will  know  well  who  is  his  informer 
and  will,  in  his  turn,  inform.  Inform  upon  the  man 
who  plotted  to  have  George's  person  seized  by  French 
pirates  as  he  returned  to  England  from  France,  the 
man  who  spread  broadcast  through  England  the  re- 
ward offered  by  Prince  Charles  of  ,£30,000  to  whom- 
soever should  seize  and  secure  George "* 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Fordingbridge,  maddened  by 
the  other's  taunts,  "  why  do  you  persecute  me  like 


*  See  appendix,  note  A.     The  reward  offered  by  Charles  Ed- 
ward. 


A  SUBJECT   OF   KING  GEORGE.  17 

this  ?      What    have    I    ever    done    to    you    that   you 
threaten  me  thus?" 

"  Recall,"  replied  the  Jesuit,  "  your  vows  at  St. 
Omer,  your  sins  since,  your  broken  pledges,  your 
cancelled  oaths.  Then  answer  to  yourself  why  I.  do 
these  things.  Moreover,  remember  I  love  my  brother 
— he  has  been  my  charge  since  his  boyhood — and  if 
Elphinston  is  betrayed  Douglas  must  fall  too.  Also 
remember,  Elphinston  has  been  ever  beloved  by  me. 
You  have  inflicted  one  deadly  wound  on  him,  you 
have  wrecked  his  life  by  striking  him  through  his 
love — think  you  that  I  will  ever  permit  you  to  injure 
him  again  ?  Man  !  "  the  Jesuit  said,  advancing  nearer 
to  Fordingbridge  as  he  spoke,  and  standing  before 
him  in  so  threatening  a  manner  that  the  other  shrank 
back  from  him,  "  if  evil  comes  to  Elphinston  through 
you,  such  evil  shall  in  turn  come  to  you  through  me 
that  I  will  rend  your  life  for  ever  and  always.  Re- 
member, I  say  again,  remember." 

He  took  his  hat  from  off  the  table  as  he  finished, 
and  left  the  room  addressing  no  further  remark  to 
the  other.  And,  quietly  as  he  ever  moved,  he  was 
about  to  descend  the  stairs  when  Lady  Fording- 
bridge coming  from  out  an  open  door,  stopped 
him. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said,  in  a  soft,  low 
voice,  "  come  within  a  moment,"  and,  followed  by 
Sholto,  she  led  him  back  into  the  room  she  had  just 
quitted.  Here,  too,  a  warm  pleasant  fire  burned  in 
the  grate,  while  an  agreeable  aroma  of  violets  stole 
through  the  apartment ;  and  motioning  her  visitor  to 
a  seat  her  ladyship  said  : 

"  Is  the  news  true  ?  Are  they — is  Mr.  Elphinston 
in  London  ?" 


1 8  DENOUNCED. 

"  It  is  true,  Kitty,"  he  said.  "  Yet  I  know  not  how 
you  heard  it." 

"  From  my  father  who  dreads  as  much  to  meet  him 
as  the  craven  in  his  library  must  do."  She  paused  a 
moment,  then  she  continued,  "  Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  have  seen  him." 

"And,"  she  asked,  wistfully,  "did  he  send  no  word 
of  pardon — to  me  ? " 

The  Jesuit  shook  his  head,  though  in  a  gentle 
kindly  manner,  ere  he  replied.  "  No,  child.  He  spoke 
not  of  you." 

She  sat  gazing  into  the  embers  for  a  few  moments 
more ;  then  she  went  on. 

"  Yet  he  must  know,  he  cannot  but  know  how 
basely  I  was  deceived.  You  told  me  months  ago  that 
he  had  learnt  some  of  the  story  from  your  brother's 
lips,  who  learnt  it  from  you.  Is  there  no  room  for 
pity  in  his  heart  ?  Will  he  never  forgive  ? " 

"  If  he  thinks  aught,"  said  the  Jesuit,  still  very 
gently,  to  her,  "  it  is  that  you  should  never  have  be- 
lieved so  base  a  tale.  So  at  least  he  tells  Douglas.  To 
me  he  has  never  spoken  of  the  matter." 

"  Alas  !  "  she  said.  "  How  could  I  doubt  ?  Lord 
Fordingbridge  I  might  have  disbelieved,  but  my  fa- 
ther !  "  and  here  she  shuddered.  "  How  could  I  think 
that  he  would  stoop  to  practise  such  lies,  such  duplici- 
ty, on  his  own  child  ? " 

Father  Sholto  made  no  answer  to  this  remark,  con- 
tenting himself  with  lifting  his  hands  from  his  knees 
and  warming  the  palms  at  the  fire.  And  so  they  sat, 
neither  speaking  for  two  or  three  moments.  Then 
she  said : 

"  Father,  will  you  take  a  letter  to  him  from  me  ? " 

This  time  he  lifted  his  bushy  eyebrows  instead  of 


A  SUBJECT   OF   KING  GEORGE.  19 

his  hands,  and  looked  at  her  from  underneath  them. 
Next  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  then  he  said: 

"  Kitty,  for  you  I  will  do  anything,  for  you  who 
have  ever  been  a  dutiful  daughter  of  the  Church,  ay  ! 
and  a  loyal  adherent  to  a  now  sadly  broken  cause. 
Yet,  child,  what  use  to  write  ?  Nothing  can  undo 
what  is  done ;  you  must  make  the  best  of  matters. 
Solace  your  wounded  heart  with  the  rank  you  have 
gained,  with  your  husband's  now  comfortable  means, 
your  reception  at  the  Court  of  the  Hanoverian  king, 
for  king  he  is,  and,  I  fear,  must  be.  However  great 
the  evil  that  was  done,  it  must  be  borne.  You  and 
Bertie  Elphinston  are  sundered  for  ever  in  this  world, 
unless- " 

"  Unless  ? "  she  repeated,  with  a  swift  glance  from 
her  eyes. 

"  You  both  survive  him.  Yet,  how  shall  such  a 
thing  be !  He  is  no  older  than  Elphinston  himself, 
and,  much  as  he  has  wronged  that  other,  no  repara- 
tion, not  even  his  life,  would  set  things  right.  If 
Bertie  slew  him  he  could  not  marry  his  victim's 
widow." 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  said  Lady  Fordingbridge,  "  the  last 
thing  he  would  wish  to  do  now,  even  were  I  free, 
would  be  to  have  me  for  his  wife.  Me  whom  once  he 
loved  so  tenderly." 

Once  more  the  Jesuit  twitched  up  his  great  eye- 
brows and  muttered  something  to  himself,  and  then 
seemed  bent  in  thought.  And  as  Kitty  sat  watching 
him  she  caught  disconnected  whispers  from  his  lips. 
"  Douglas  might  do  it,"  she  heard  him  say  ;  "  that  way 
the  gate  would  be  open.  Yet  he  cannot  be  spared, 
not  yet,"  until  at  last  he  ceased,  after  which,  looking  up 
from  his  reverie,  he  said  to  her : 


20  DENOUNCED. 

"What  do  you  wish  to  write  to  him,  child?  You, 
the  Viscountess  Fordingbridge,  must  have  a  care  as  to 
your  epistles  to  unmarried  men." 

"Be  under  no  apprehension,"  she  replied.  "Yet,  if 
— if — he  would  pardon  me,  would  send  me  one  little 
line  to  say — God  ! — that  he  does  not  hate  me — oh  ! 
that  he  who  once  loved  me  so  should  come  to  hate  me 
— then,  then  I  might  again  be  happy,  a  little  happy. 
Father,  I  must  write  to  him." 

"  So  be  it,"  he  answered.  "  Write  if  you  must.  I 
will  convey  the  letter." 


CHAPTER   III. 
A  WOMAN'S  LETTER. 

THE  next  night  Father  Sholto,  who  was  lodged  in 
Lord  Fordingbridge's  house,  took  a  hackney  coach 
through  the  fields  to  Chelsea  Church,  and  so  was  fer- 
ried across  to  Battersea.  Then,  because  the  evening 
was  soft  and  mild  and  there  was  a  young  moon,  he 
decided  to  walk  on  by  the  road  to  the  next  vil- 
lage, namely  Wandsworth,  which  lay  half  an  hour  fur- 
ther on. 

"  Poor  Kitty,"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  he  felt  the 
packet  she  had  confided  to  him  press  against  his 
breast,  "  poor  Kitty !  Why  could  she  not  have  be- 
lieved in  Bertie's  truth  ?  Surely  anything  might  have 
been  set  against  the  word  of  such  a  creature  as  Simeon 
Larpent,  pupil  of  mine  though  he  be.  Peste  !  why  was 
not  I  in  Paris  when  all  was  happening  ?  By  now  they 
would  have  been  happy.  They  could  have  lived  in 
France  or  Italy.  We,  the  Society,"  and  he  crossed 
himself  as  he  went  on,  "  would  have  found  the  where- 
withal ;  or  even  in  America  they  might  have,  perhaps, 
been  safe.  Yet  now  !  Now  !  Elphinston  is  a  heart- 
broken man ;  Kitty,  a  heart-broken  woman.  Alas ! 
alas! 

With  meditations  such  as  these,  for  political  Scotch 
Jesuit  as  Archibald  Sholto  was,  and  fierce  partisan 
of  his  countrymen,  Charles  Stuart  and  his  father 

21 


22  DENOUNCED. 

James,  there  beat  a  kindly  heart  within  him,  he  reached 
the  long,  straggling  village  street  of  Wandsworth. 
Then,  turning  off  somewhat  sharply  to  the  right,  he 
emerged  after  another  five  minutes  upon  a  road  above 
the  strand  of  the  river,  on  which,  set  back  in  shady 
gardens,  in  which  grew  firs,  cedars,  and  chestnut  trees, 
were  some  antique  and  picturesque  houses  built  a  hun- 
dred years  before. 

At  one  of  these,  the  first  he  came  to,  he  knocked 
three  times  on  the  garden  gate  and  rang  a  bell,  the 
handle  of  which  was  set  high  in  the  door  frame ;  and 
then  in  a  moment  a  strong,  heavy  tread  was  heard 
coming  from  the  house  to  the  gate. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  a  man's  voice  asked  from  within. 

"  Nunquam  triumphans"  *  was  the  priest's  answer, 
softly  given,  and  as  he  spoke  the  postern  door  was 
opened,  and  a  tall  man  stood  before  Sholto.  In  a  mo- 
ment their  hands  were  clasped  in  each  other's  and  their 
greetings  exchanged. 

"  Tis  good  of  you,  Archie,  to  come  again  to-night," 
his  younger  brother  said  to  him;  "have  you  brought 
more  news  ?  How  fares  it  with  those  in  the  Tower?" 

"  111,"  replied  the  other.  "  As  ill  as  may  be.  The 
trials  are  fixed,  'tis  said,  for  July  at  latest.  One  will, 
however,  escape.  Tullibardine " 

"  The  Marquis  of  Tullibardine  escape !  Why,  then, 
there  is  hope  for  the  others  !  " 

"  Ay  !  "  replied  the  elder  brother,  "  there  is,  by  the 
same  way.  Tullibardine  is  dying  in  the  Tower.  His 
life  draws  to  a  close." 

"  Pish  !     What  use  such  an  escape  ?     But  come  in, 

"  Tandem  triumphans"  was  the  motto  emblazoned  on  Charles 
Edward's  banner  during  the  march  into  England.  "  Nunquam  tri- 
umphans "  was  afterwards  a  password  between  Jacobites. 


A  WOMAN'S   LETTER.  23 

Archie.  Bertie  looks  ever  for  you."  Then  he  stopped 
on  the  gravel  path  and,  gazing  into  the  other's  face  as 
it  shone  in  the  moonlight,  he  said,  "  What  of  Kitty  ? 
Have  you  told  her  he  is  in  London  ?" 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  Jesuit,  "  and  have  on  me  now  a 
letter  to  him  from  her,  suing,  I  believe,  for  forgive- 
ness. Douglas ! "  he  exclaimed,  seizing  the  other  by 
the  arm,  "  Bertie  must  pardon  her.  You  must  make 
him.  Otherwise " 

"  What  ? " 

"  I  fear  I  know  not  what.  Her  love  for  him  is 
what  it  ever  was,  stronger,  fiercer,  may  be,  because  of 
the  treachery  that  tore  them  asunder ;  she  thinks  of 
him  alone.  And  if  she  grows  desperate  Heaven  knows 
what  may  be  the  outcome  of  it.  Murder  of  Simeon  ! 
betrayal  of  him !  Self-slaughter !  She  is  capable  of 
all  or  any,  if  goaded  too  far.  He  must  forgive  her." 

"  Forgive  her !  "  exclaimed  his  younger  brother. 
"Forgive  her!  Why,  who  shall  doubt  it;  what  pos- 
sesses your  mind  ?  There  is  no  fear  of  that.  No, 
that  is  not  what  there  is  to  fear." 

"What  then  ?"  asked  Archibald,  bewildered. 

"  That  if  they  should  once  again  meet  no  power 
on  earth  could  ever  part  them  more.  Even  now  he 
broods  all  day,  and  night  too,  on  finding  her,  on  carry- 
ing her  off  by  force.  There  are  scores  of  our  coun- 
trymen in  London  in  disguise  who  would  do  it  for  him 
at  his  bidding  or  help  him  to  do  it  as  well  as  to  slay  Ford- 
ingbridge.  I  tell  you,  Archie,  he  would  stand  at  noth- 
ing. Nothing  !  Why,  man,  as  we  fought  side  by  side 
at  Prestonpans  he  muttered  a  score  of  times,  '  Kate, 
Kate,  Kate."  And  once,  as  he  cut  down  an  officer  of 
Fowke's  dragoons,  he  exclaimed,  '  Each  Hanoverian 
dog  who  falls  brings  us  so  much  the  nearer  to  London 


24  DENOUNCED. 

and  me  to  Kate.'  Faith  !  though  the  battle  lasted  but 
four  minutes,  he  muttered  her  name  ten  times  as 
often." 

"  Come,"  said  the  other,  "  let  us  go  in  to  him.  I 
would  I  knew  what  is  best  to  do.  Ah,  well !  most 
affairs  settle  themselves.  Pray  Heaven  this  one  may." 

Over  a  fire,  burning  in  an  ancient  grate  constructed 
for  the  consumption  of  wood  alone,  they  found  Bertie 
Elphinston  brooding,  as  his  friend  had  described.  And 
as  all  the  Scotch  had  done  who  had  sought  a  hiding- 
place  in  London  after  the  defeat  of  the  Stuart  army  in 
Scotland,  any  marks  that  might  proclaim  their  nation- 
ality had  been  carefully  exchanged — where  the  purse 
allowed — for  more  English  traits  and  characteristics. 
Therefore  Elphinston  was  now  clad  as  any  other  gen- 
tleman of  the  time  might  be,  plainly  but  well — a 
branched  velvet  coat  with  a  satin  lining,  a  black  silk 
embroidered  waistcoat,  and  breeches  of  velvet  in  keep- 
ing with  the  coat  constituting  his  dress,  while  he  wore 
his  own  hair,  of  a  dark-brown  colour  and  slightly 
curly.  Against  the  side  of  the  large  open-mouthed 
grate  and  near  to  his  hand  there  reclined  an  ordinary 
plate-handled  sword,  with  the  belt  hanging  to  it  as 
when  unbuckled  from  the  body;  deeper  in  a  recess 
might  be  seen  two  claymores,  with  which  weapons 
the  Scotch  had  recently  inflicted  such  deadly  slaughter 
on  the  Duke  of  Cumberland's  troops. 

"  Ha,  Archie  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  spring- 
ing up  from  his  chair  and  grasping  the  Jesuit's  hand, 
"welcome,  old  friend.  So  you  have  found  your  way 
here  once  more.  A  la  bonne  chance!  Yet,"  he  went 
op,  while  his  handsome  face  clouded  again  with  the 
gloomy  look  that  it  had  borne  before  lighting  up  at 
the  entrance  of  their  friend,  "  why  say  so  !  You  can 


A  WOMAN'S   LETTER.  25 

bring  us  no  good  news  now — you  can,"  he  said  in  a 
lower  voice,  "  bring  me  none.  Yet  speak,  Archie, 
how  is  it  with  our  poor  friends  ? " 

"  As  before.  There  is  no  news,  except  that  their 
trials  are  fixed.  Yet  all  bear  up  well,  the  head  of 
your  house  especially  so.  He  jests  ever — p'raps  'tis 
to  cheer  his  wife  more  than  for  aught  else.  She  is  ad- 
mitted to  see  him,  and  brings  and  takes  our  news,  and 
he  sends  always,  through  her,  his  love  to  you.  Also 
he  bids  you  begone  from  out  of  England,  you  and 
Douglas  both,  since  there  can  be  no  safety  for  you  in 
it.  The  king  is  implacable,  he  will  spare  none." 

"And  the  Prince,  our  Prince,"  asked  Elphinston, 
"  what  of  him  ;  is  he  safe  ? " 

"  He  is  not  taken,"  replied  the  other.  "We  know 
nought  else.  But  in  truth,  it  is  partly  to  endorse  Lord 
Balmerino's  injunction  that  I  am  here  to-night.  Both 
of  you  must  begone.  London  is  no  place  for  Jacobites 
of  any  degree ;  for  those  who  have  recently  fought 
the  peril  is  deadly.  Already  the  whole  town  is  searched 
from  end  to  end.  The  Tower  is  full  of  prisoners. 
From  noble  lords  down  to  the  meanest,  it  is  crammed 
with  them.  Gallows  are  already  being  put  up  on  Ken- 
nington  Common ;  soon  the  slaughter  will  begin.  My 
boys,  you  must  back  to  France." 

"  Douglas  may  go  if  he  will,"  replied  Elphinston, 
looking  at  his  comrade.  "  I  remain  here.  I  have 
something  to  do."  Then  he  said  quietly,  "Where  is 
Lord  Fordingbridge  ? " 

"  At  present  in  London,  but  he  leaves  for  his  seat 
in  Cheshire  to-morrow.  Bertie,"  the  Jesuit  exclaimed, 
"  if  what  you  have  to  do  is  with  him  it  must  be  post- 
poned. To  seek  out  Fordingbridge  now  would  be 
your  undoing." 


26  DENOUNCED. 

"  And  his  wife — does — does  she  go  too  ? " 

"  No,"  the  other  replied,  "  she  stays  in  London. 
Bertie,  I  have  brought  you  a  letter  from  her." 

"A  letter  from  Kate — Lady  Fordingbridge — to 
me !  To  me !  What  does  it  mean  ?  What  can  have 
caused  her  to  write  to  me  ?  " 

"  Best  read  the  letter,"  replied  the  other.  "  And 
as  you  read  it  think — try  to  think — kindly  of  her.  Re- 
member, too,  that  whatever  she  was  to  you  once,  she 
is  now  another  man's  wife.  However  great  a  villain 
he  may  be,  remember  that." 

"  Give  me  the  letter,"  Elphinston  said  briefly. 

Sholto  took  from  his  pocket  the  little  packet;  then, 
as  he  gave  it  to  the  other,  he  said,  "  Douglas  and  I 
will  leave  you  to  its  perusal.  The  night  is  fine,  he 
can  walk  with  me  to  Battersea.  Farewell." 

"  Farewell,"  returned  Elphinston.  "  And — and — tell 
her  ladyship  if  there  is  aught  to  answer  such  answer 
will  be  sent." 

"  Be  careful  of  your  messengers.  Remember.  Dan- 
ger surrounds  you." 

"  I  shall  remember." 

When  they  were  gone,  his  friend  saying  he  would 
be  back  in  an  hour's  time,  the  young  man  turned  the 
letter  over  more  than  once  ere  he  broke  the  seal — it 
bore  no  address  upon  it,  perhaps  for  safety's  sake — 
and  then,  at  last,  he  opened  it  and  commenced  its 
perusal.  And  as  he  did  so  and  saw  the  once  familiar 
handwriting,  he  sighed  profoundly  more  than  once. 
Yet  soon  he  was  engrossed  in  the  contents.  They  ran 
as  follows : 

"  I  hear  you  are  in  London  and  that  at  last  is  it 
possible  for  me  to  do  what  I  have  long  desired — 
though  hitherto  no  opportunity  has  arisen — namely,  to 


A  WOMAN'S   LETTER.  27 

explain  that  which  in  your  eyes  may  seem  to  be  my 
treachery  to  you. 

"Mr.  Elphinston,  when  you  and  I  last  parted,  I 
was  your  affianced  wife;  I  write  to  you  now  as  the 
wife  of  another  man  to  ask  you  for  your  pardon.  If  I 
set  down  all  as  it  came  to  pass  it  may  be  that,  at  least, 
you  will  cease  to  hate  my  memory — the  memory  of 
my  name.  Nightly  I  pray  that  such  may  some  day  be 
the  case.  Thereby  at  last  I  may  know  ease,  though 
never  again  happiness  in  this  world. 

"  When  you  quitted  Paris  a  year  ago  you  went,  as 
you  said  you  were  going,  to  Rome  on  a  message  to 
the  Pope  connected  with  the  Cause.  Alas!  you  and 
Father  Sholto  had  not  been  sped  a  week  ere  very 
different  tidings  reached  me.  My  father — God  forgive 
him ! — first  poisoned  my  ears  with  rumours — which  he 
said  were  spread  not  only  over  all  Paris  but  also  at  St. 
Germains,  Vincennes,  and  Marly — that  it  was  on  no 
political  matter  that  you  had  departed.  It  was  known 
— even  I  knew  so  much,  I  had  jested  with  you  about 
it,  had  even  been  sore  on  the  subject — that  Madeleine 
Baufremont,  of  the  Queen's  .Chamber,  admired  you. 
Now,  so  said  my  unhappy  father,  with  well-acted  mis- 
ery, it  was  whispered  that  she  and  you  had  gone  away 
together.  Moreover,  he  said  there  was  no  doubt  that 
you  and  she  were  married.  He  even  named  the  church 
at  which  the  marriage  had  taken  place  at  Moret,  be- 
yond Fontainebleau." 

"  So,  so,"  muttered  Bertie  Elphinston,  as  he  read. 
"  I  see.  I  begin  to  see.  'Tis  as  I  thought,  though  I 
did  not  know  this.  Well,  a  better  lie  than  one  might 
have  hoped." 

.     "Next,"  the  letter  continued,  "there  came  to  me 
the  man  who  is  now  my  husband — then,  as  you  know, 
3 


28  DENOUNCED. 

the  Honourable  Simeon  Larpent,  his  father  being  still 
alive.  Needless  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Elphinston,  of  how 
this  man  had  ever  sought  my  love  ;  first,  because  of 
our  poverty,  in  a  manner  alike  disgraceful  to  both, 
and  next,  when  that  design  failed,  in  a  more  honour- 
able fashion.  Yet,  of  no  avail  when  you But 

enough.  You  also  know  well  how  every  plea  of  his  was 
rejected  by  me. 

"  He,  too,  told  the  same  tale.  He  protested  to  me 
that  on  the  morning  you  left  St.  Germains  Madeleine 
Baufremont  set  out  on  the  same  southern  road,  that 
your  carriages  met  and  joined  at  Etampes,  and  that 
thence  you  travelled  together  to  Moret." 

"  The  devil  can  indeed  speak  the  truth,"  muttered 
Bertie,  as  he  read  thus  far. 

"  Still,  I  would  not — I  could  not — believe.  Our 
last  parting  was  fresh  in  my  mind,  ay !  in  my  heart ; 
our  last  vows  and  last  farewells,  our  projects  for  the 
future,  our  hopes  of  days  of  happiness  to  come — for- 
give me  if  I  remind  you  of  them — they  are  wrecked 
now!  I  say  I  could  not  believe.  Yet,  wherever  I 
looked,  wherever  I  made  inquiries,  there  was  but  one 
answer.  The  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish  gentlemen 
who  frequented  my  father's  house  all  gave  the  same 
answer,  though  none  spake  the  words  I  feared.  Some, 
I  observed,  regarded  me  with  glances  that  were  full  of 
pity — for  which  I  hated  them — others  preserved  a  si- 
lence that  was  worse  tenfold  than  speech,  some  smiled 
in  their  sleeves.  And  Larpent  was  ever  there — always, 
always,  always.  And  one  day  he  came  to  where  I  was 
sitting  and  said  to  me,  '  Kitty,  if  you  will  indeed  know 
the  truth,  there  is  a  witness  below  who  can  give  it  to 
you.  The  curt  of  Moret  has  come  to  Paris  with  a  pe- 
tition to  the  king  against  the  exactions  of  the  Seigneur. 


A  WOMAN'S   LETTER. 


29 


Kitty,  he  it  was  who  made  Bertie  Elphinston  and 
Madeleine  Baufremont  man  and  wife." 

"  '  So  be  it,'  I  replied.  '  Yet,  remember  their  mar- 
riage makes  ours  no  nearer.'  '  It  will  come,'  he  re- 
plied. 'I  can  not  believe  that  my  reward  will  never 
come.'  Whereon  he  left  the  room  and  came  back  with 
the  curt.  Alas  !  he  told  so  plain  a  tale,  describing 
you  with  such  precision  and  Madeleine  Baufremont 
also,  that  there  was,  indeed,  no  room  left  for  doubt. 
Yet  still  I  could  scarce  believe  ;  for  even  though  you 
had  not  loved  me,  even  though  jour  burning  words, 
your  whispers  of  love  had  all  been  false,  why,  why,  I 
asked  again  and  again,  should  you  have  stooped  to 
such  duplicity  ?  If  you  had  tired  of  me,  if  that  other 
had  turned  your  heart  from  me  to  her,  one  word 
would  have  been  enough ;  I  must  have  let  you  go 
when  you  no  longer  desired  to  stay  by  my  side.  Mr. 
Elphinston,  I  wrote  to  you  at  Rome,  to  the  address 
you  had  given  me  and  to  the  English  College  there;  I 
wrote  to  Father  Sholto — alas !  I  so  much  forgot  my 
pride,  that  I  wrote  to  Douglas,  who  had  then  joined 
the  squadron  commanded  by  Monsieur  de  Roquefeuille 
for  the  invasion  of  England.  I  could  not  part  from 
you  yet " — these  words  were  scored  out  by  the  writer, 
and,  in  their  place,  the  sentence  began — "  I  could  not 
yet  believe  in  your  deceit,  in  your  cold,  cruel  betrayal 
of  a  woman  who  had  trusted  in  you  as  in  a  god  ;  it 
seemed  all  too  base  and  heartless.  Yet  neither  from 
you  nor  the  Sholtos  came  one  line  in  answer  to  my 
prayer." 

Elphinston  groaned  bitterly  as  he  read  the  words. 
He  knew  now  how  easily  the  trap  had  been  laid. 

"Then,  at  last,  I  did  believe.  Then,  at  last,  I  re- 
nounced you  and  your  love.  I  denied  to  my  own 


30  DENOUNCED. 

heart  that  I  had  ever  known  a  man  named  Bertie  El- 
phinston,  that  I  had  ever  been  that  man's  promised 
wife.  I  tore  you  from  my  heart  for  ever.  It  was 
hard,  yet  I  did  it.  Time  passed,  no  intelligence  came 
of  you  or  Madeleine  Baufremont.  I  even  heard  that 
the  Due  de  Baufremont  had  petitioned  the  king  that, 
if  you  again  entered  French  territory,  you  should  be 
punished  for  abducting  his  daughter.  Yet,  as  the  days 
went  on,  I  allowed  Simeon  Larpent  to  approach  me  no 
nearer  on  the  subject.  So  he  and  my  father  concocted 
a  fresh  scheme  by  which  I  was  at  last  led  to  consent 
to  become  his  wife.  We  were,  as  you  know,  poor, 
horribly  poor;  the  Cours  cTEscrime  hardly  provided 
for  our  needs.  Often,  indeed,  I  had  wondered  how  we 
managed  to  subsist  so  well  on  what  seemed  to  me  to 
be  nothing.  My  father  talked  vaguely  of  an  allow- 
ance to  him,  in  common  with  other  refugees  from 
England,  from  the  French  king  or  from  the  Chevalier 
St.  George,  or  the  Scotch  Fund.  Now — for  at  this 
period  the  old  Lord  Fordingbridge  died — he  said  we 
had  been  subsisting  for  some  time  on  money  lent,  or 
we  could,  if  we  chose,  consider  it  given  to  us,  by  the 
present  lord.  He  would  never,  my  father  said,  de- 
mand repayment ;  indeed,  such  was  his  lordship's  re- 
spect for  him  and  his  admiration  for  me,  that  he  would 
cheerfully  continue  his  allowance,  or,  since  he  was  now 
very  well-to-do,  increase  it.  So  I  learnt  that  I  had 
been  dependent  for  the  bread  I  ate,  the  dress  I  wore, 
to  this  man.  Need  I  say  more !  You  know  that  I  be- 
came the  wife  of  Lord  Fordingbridge. 

"  A  month  had  not  passed  ere  I  knew  the  truth  as 
to  how  I  had  been  duped  and  deceived — as  to  how  I 
had  been  false  to  you.  De  Roquefeuille's  squadron 
was  driven  back  by  Sir  John  Nprris,  and  Douglas 


A  WOMAN'S   LETTER.  31 

Sholto  returned  to  Paris.  He  told  me  all ;  that  it  was 
your  kinsman  and  namesake  of  Glenbervie  who  had 
left  Paris  with  you  to  espouse  Madeleine  Baufremont, 
and  that  you — tied  under  a  solemn  promise  to  in  no 
way  let  his  approaching  marriage  with  her  be  known 
— had  kept  the  secret  even  from  me.  Alas !  had  you 
given  me  one  hint,  spoken  one  word,  how  different  all 
would  have  been !  Yet,  I  do  not  reproach  you  for 
fidelity  to  your  friend  ;  I  only  ask  that  when  you 
think  of  me — if  you  ever  think  at  all — as  not  trusting 
you,  you  will  recollect  that  your  own  silence  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  doubt. 

"  One  word  more,  and  I  shall  not  trouble  you  fur- 
ther. It  is  to  beseech  you  to  quit  London  at  once,  to 
put  yourself  in  safety,  with  the  seas  between  you  and 
the  English  Government.  For,  even  though  you  might 
lie  hid  from  the  vengeance  that  will  fall  on  all  follow- 
ers of  the  prince  who  may  be  caught,  I  fear  that  pri- 
vate malice,  aided  by  personal  fear  of  you,  may  lead 
to  your  betrayal.  Be  warned,  I  beseech  you.  Fare- 
well and  forgive. 

"  CATHERINE  FORDINGBRIDGE." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    SUBJECTS    OF    KING    JAMES. 

THE  letter  written  by  Lady  Fordingbridge,  read 
in  conjunction  with  some  other  remarks  made  by  other 
persons  who  have  been  introduced  to  the  reader's  no- 
tice, may  serve  to  inform  him  of  the  state  of  affairs 
that  led  to  the  position  in  which  things  were  at  the 
period  when  this  narrative  commences,  namely,  the 
month  of  May,  1746.  A  few  other  words  of  addi- 
tional explanation  alone  are  necessary. 

At  the  time  when  Cardinal  Tencin  (who  looked 
forward  to  becoming  the  successor  of  Fleury  as  Prime 
Minister  of  France,  and  who  owed  his  elevation  to  the 
purple  as  well  as  to  the  Primacy  of  France  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  old  Pretender)  persuaded  Louis  XV.  to 
support  the  claims  of  the  Stuarts  as  his  great-grand- 
father and  predecessor  had  done,  Paris  was,  as  is  well 
known"  to  all  readers  of  history,  full  of  English,  Scotch, 
and  Irish  Jacobites.  These  refugees  from  their  own 
countries  were  to  be  found  in  all  capacities  in  that 
city,  some  serving  as  the  agents  of  the  exiled  Cheva- 
lier de  St.  George,  who  was  now  resident  at  Rome, 
and  others  as  correspondents  between  the  followers  of 
the  Stuarts  in  London,  Rome,  and  Paris ;  also,  some 
resided  there  either  from  the  fact  that  their  presence 
would  not  be  tolerated  in  England  or  its  dependencies, 
and  some  because,  in  their  staunch  loyalty  to  the  fallen 


THE   SUBJECTS   OF   KING  JAMES.  33 

House,  they  were  not  disposed  to  dwell  in  a  country 
which  they  considered  was  ruled  over  by  usurpers. 
To  this  class  belonged  the  late  Viscount  Fording- 
bridge,  a  staunch  Cheshire  nobleman,  who  had  been 
out  in  the  '15,  had  afterwards  escaped  from  the  Isle  of 
Skye,  and  had  also  had  the  good  fortune  to  escape 
forfeiture  of  his  estates,  owing  to  the  fact  that,  though 
he  had  been  out  himself,  he  had  neither  furnished 
men,  arms,  nor  money,  so  far  as  was  known. 

But  also  in  Paris  were  still  others  who,  loyal  Jaco- 
bites as  they  were,  and  followers  of  a  ruined  party,  were 
yet  obliged  to  earn  their  bread  in  the  best  way  they 
were  able.  Thus  Doyle  Fane,  Kitty's  father,  an  Irish 
gentleman  of  good  family  who  had  himself  seen  serv- 
ice under  France  and  Austria,  eked  out  a  slender 
allowance — paid  irregularly  by  James  Stuart — by  les- 
sons in  swordsmanship,  of  which  art  he  was  an  expert 
master.  Some,  again,  obtained  commissions  in  French 
regiments,  many,  indeed,  being  glad  to  serve  as  sim- 
ple privates;  while  several  who  were  more  fortunate — 
and  among  whom  were  Douglas  Sholto  and  Bertie 
Elphinston — obtained  positions  in  the  Garde  du  Roi 
or  the  Mousquetaires,  or  other  corps,  and  so  waited  in 
the  hopes  of  a  descent  on  England  in  which  they 
would  be  allowed  to  take  part  by  resigning  tempora- 
rily their  French  commissions. 

Of  priests  affecting  Stuart  principles  there  were 
also  several,  some,  as  was  the  case  with  Archibald 
Sholto,  being  temporarily  attached  to  St.  Omer,  at 
which  there  was  a  large  English  seminary  for  the  edu- 
cation of  young  Catholics,  but  all  of  whom  were  fre- 
quently in  London  and  Paris,  plotting  always  restless- 
ly for  the  overthrow  of  the  present  reigning  House  in 
England,  and  for  the  restoration  of  the  discarded  one. 


,.  DENOUNCED. 

34 

Fane's  residence  at  this  period,  which  was  shortly 
before  the  expedition  of  Charles  Edward  to  recover,  if 
possible,  the  throne  of  England  for  his  father,  was  a 
popular  resort  of  many  of  the  exiled  English,  Scotch, 
and  Irish,  principally  because,  in  the  better  classes  of 
men  who  were  still  young,  the  practice  of  the  sword 
was  unceasing,  and  also,  perhaps,  because  in  the  next 
house  to  his  was  a  well-known  tavern,  "  Le  Phcebus 
Anglais,"  kept  by  a  Jacobite,  and  a  great  place  of  as- 
sembly for  all  the  fraternity.  But  for  the  younger 
men  there  was  an  even  greater  attraction  than  either 
the  advantages  of  continued  practice  in  swordsman- 
ship or  a  cheap  but  good  tavern — the  attraction  of 
Kitty  Fane's  beauty. 

Kitty  kept  her  father's  house  for  him,  kept  also  his 
accounts,  made  his  fees  go  as  long  a  way  as  possible, 
and  his  bottle  last  out  as  well  as  could  be  the  case 
when  submitted  so  often  to  the  constant  demands  on 
it,  and  was  admired  and  respected  by  all  who  came  to 
the  little  house  in  the  Rue  Trouse  Vache.  Besides 
her  beauty,  she  was  known  to  be  a  girl  who  respected 
herself,  and  was  consequently  respected;  and  as  Doyle 
Fane  was  also  known  to  be  a  gentleman  by  birth,  and 
Kitty's  mother  to  have  been  a  daughter  of  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  Ireland,  none  ever  dreamed  of  treat- 
ing her  in  a  manner  other  than  became  a  lady. 

Of  declared  lovers  she  had  two,  one  whom  she  dis- 
liked for  reasons  she  knew  not  why — at  first ;  the  other 
whom  she  adored.  Simeon  Larpent,  heir  to  the  then 
dying  Lord  Fordingbridge,  was  one;  Bertie  Elphin- 
ston,  of  the  Regiment  of  Picardy,  the  other.  With 
Larpent,  however,  the  reasons  why  she  disliked  him 
soon  made  themselves  apparent.  He  was  crafty  by 
nature,  with  a  craft  that  had  been  much  fostered  at 


THE   SUBJECTS   OF    KING  JAMES.  35 

St.  Omer  and  Lisbon,  where  he  was  educated,  and  he 
was,  she  thought,  lacking  in  bravery.  When  other 
men  were  planning  and  devising  as  to  how  they  could 
find  a  place  in  that  army  which — under  Count  Saxe,  to 
be  convoyed  to  England  by  De  Roquefeuille — was 
then  forming,  he  made  no  attempt  to  become  one  of 
its  number,  giving  as  his  reasons  his  father's  ill-health 
and  his  opinion  that  he  could  better  serve  the  Cause 
by  remaining  in  France.  Yet  Bertie  Elphinston  had 
at  the  same  time  a  delicate  mother  residing  at  Passy, 
and  Douglas  Sholto  was  in  poor  health  at  the  mo- 
ment; and  still  they  were  both  going. 

Moreover,  Simeon  Larpent's  admiration  was  dis- 
tasteful to  her.  He  had  then  but  recently  come  back 
to  Paris  from  Lisbon,  from  which  he  brought  no  par- 
ticular good  character,  while  he  appeared  by  his  con- 
versation and  mode  of  life  to  have  contracted  many 
extremely  bad  habits.  In  the  Paris  of  those  days 
the  practice  and  admiration  of  morality  stood  at  a 
terribly  low  point,  yet  Simeon  Larpent  seemed  more 
depraved  than  most  young  men  were  in  that  city 
even.  In  a  morose  and  sullen  fashion  he  revelled 
in  all  the  iniquities  that  prevailed  during  the  middle 
of  Louis  XV's  reign,  and  his  name  became  noted  in 
English  circles  as  that  of  a  man  unscrupulous  and 
abandoned,  as  well  as  shifty  and  cunning.  Moreover, 
even  his  Jacobitism  was  looked  upon  with  doubtful 
eyes,  and  not  a  few  were  heard  to  say  that  the  hour 
which  witnessed  his  father's  death  would  also  see  him 
an  avowed  Hanoverian.  That  such  would  have  been 
the  case  was  certain,  had  not,  however,  the  old  lord's 
death  taken  place  at  the  very  moment  when  Charles 
Edward  made  the  last  Stuart  bid  for  restoration  in 
England.  But  at  such  a  time  it  was  impossible  that 


^6  DENOUNCED. 

the  new  peer  could  approach  the  English  king.  Had 
he  done  so  it  would  have  been  more  than  his  life  was 
worth.  At  the  best,  he  would  have  been  forced  into  a 
duel  with  some  infuriated  Jacobite;  at  the  worst,  his 
body  would  have  been  found  in  the  Seine,  stabbed  to 
the  heart. 

Meanwhile  those  events  which  Lady  Fordingbridge 
had  spoken  of  in  her  letter  to  Bertie  Elphinston  had 
taken  place;  nothing  was  heard  by  her  either  of  her 
lover  or  the  Sholtos,  and  she  became  the  wife  of  Ford- 
ingbridge. For  a  month  he  revelled  in  the  possession 
of  the  beautiful  woman  he  had  coveted  since  first  he 
set  eyes  on  her  ;  then  she  found  out  the  truth  and  his 
lordship  had  no  longer  a  wife  except  in  name.  She 
had  one  interview  with  him— alone — and  after  that  had 
taken  place  she  never  willingly  spoke  to  him  again.  Her 
pride  forbade  her  to  separate  from  him,  but  with  the  ex- 
ception that  the  same  roof  sheltered  and  the  same  walls 
enclosed  them,  they  might  as  well  have  dwelt  in  differ- 
ent streets.  Against  all  his  protestations,  his  vows, 
his  declarations  that  love,  and  love  alone,  had  forced 
him  to  play  the  part  he  had,  she  turned  a  deaf  ear; 
she  would  not  even  open  her  lips  if  possible,  to  show 
that  she  had  heard  his  words.  She  had  come  to  hate 
and  despise  him — as  she  told  him  in  that  one  interview 
— and  her  every  action  afterwards  testified  that  she 
had  spoken  the  truth. 

And  now,  when  the  married  life  of  Lord  and  Lady 
Fordingbridge  had  arrived  at  this  pass,  the  time  was 
also  come  when  scores  of  Jacobites,  militant,  priestly, 
or  passive  as  they  might  be,  poured  into  England. 
For  Charles  Edward  had  landed  at  Moidart,  Tullibar- 
dine  had  displayed  at  Glenfinnen  the  white,  blue,  and 
red  silk  standard  of  the  prince,  the  march  southward 


THE   SUBJECTS   OF   KING  JAMES.  37 

had  begun.  Following  on  this  news — all  of  which 
reached  Paris  with  extraordinary  rapidity — came  the 
intelligence  of  the  Battle  of  Preston,  the  capture  of 
Edinburgh,  Charles's  installation  at  Holyrood,  the  rout 
of  Cope's  army,  the  march  into  England,  and  the  de- 
termination of  George  II.  to  take  the  field  in  person 
against  the  invader.  And  among  those  who  received 
their  orders  to  at  once  proceed  to  England  was  Lord 
Fordingbridge,  such  orders  coming  from  out  the  mouth 
of  the  restless  Father  Sholto. 

"But,"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  "  I  have  no  desire 
to  proceed  to  England.  My  unhappy  married  life — 
for  such  it  has  become — will  be  no  better  there  than 
here.  And  in  France,  at  least,  matrimonial  disputes 
are  not  regarded." 

"  Your  desire,"  said  the  priest,  "is  of  no  concern. 
I  tell  you  what  is  required  of  you — there  is  nothing 
left  for  you  but  to  conform.  We  wish  a  goodly  num- 
ber of  adherents  to  the  Stuart  cause — indeed,  all  whom 
it  is  possible  to  obtain — to  be  in  London  when  the 
prince  and  his  army  arrive,  as  it  is  now  an  almost  fore- 
gone conclusion  they  will  do.  You  must,  therefore, 
be  there.  Only,  since  you  are  of  a  calculating — not  to 
say  timorous — nature,  and  as  no  Jacobite  nobleman 
will  be  permitted  to  enter  England  until  the  prince  is 
in  London,  you  will  travel  with  papers  describing  you 
as  a  nobleman  who  has  given  in  his  adherence  to  the 
House  of  Hanover.  I  shall  go  with  you — it  is  neces- 
sary that  I  keep  you  under  my  eyes  as  much  as  pos- 
sible ;  also  it  is  fitting  that  I  should  be  in  London.  In 
either  case  my  services  will  be  required,  whether  we 
are  successful  or  not." 

In  this  way,  therefore,  his  lordship  returned  to 
England  in  company  with  his  wife  and  his  wife's  father 


3g  DENOUNCED. 

as  well  as  the  Jesuit.  Only,  he  made  several  reserva- 
tions in  his  own  mind  as  to  how  he  would  manage  his 
own  political  affairs,  as  to  how,  indeed,  he  would  trim 
his  sails. 

"For,"  said  he  to  himself,  "whether  I  become 
Hanoverian  or  remain  Jacobite  will  depend  vastly  on 
which  side  wins.  Once  in  England  I  shake  off  this 
accursed  hold  which  Sholto  and  all  the  other  priests  of 
St.  Omer  have  on  me  ;  nay,  if  Hanover  comes  up  upper- 
most, Sholto  himself  shall  be  laid  by  the  heels.  There 
will  be  a  pretty  sweep  made  of  the  Jesuits  if  Charles 
gets  beaten.  If  he  drives  out  George,  why,  then — ah ! 
well,  time  enough  to  ponder." 

The  events  of  three  months  soon  showed  to  which 
side  victory  was  ultimately  to  belong.  Cumberland 
destroyed  the  Scotch  army,  Charles  Edward  was  in 
hiding  in  the  land  he  had  entered  attended  by  such 
bright  hopes  and  prospects;  all  who  had  fought  on  his 
side  were  either  dead,  in  prison,  or  fled.  And  Simeon 
Larpent,  Viscount  Fordingbridge,  was — quite  with  the 
consent  for  the  time  being  of  Archibald  Sholto— an 
avowed  Hanoverian  and  received  into  favour  by  the 
Hanoverian  king,  though  with  a  strong  watch  kept  on 
all  his  actions  by  that  king's  Ministers. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY  LORD  GOES  OUT  OF  TOWN. 

ON  the  day  after  Bertie  Elphinston  received  the 
letter  from  his  lost  love,  Lady  Fordingbridge,  his  lord- 
ship himself  set  out  from  London  to  journey  into 
Cheshire,  there  to  visit  his  estate  in  that  county. 
He  had  previously  intimated  to  his  wife — who  had 
told  Father  Sholto  of  the  fact — that  he  intended  be- 
ing absent  from  London  for  some  weeks ;  indeed,  had 
asked  her  whether  it  was  her  desire  to  accompany 
him.  To  this  question  or  invitation  her  ladyship  had, 
however,  returned  the  usual  monosyllabic  answer 
which  she  generally  accorded  him,  and  had  briefly 
replied  "  No."  Then  being  pressed  by  him  to  give 
some  reason  for  her  refusal  to  so  accompany  him,  she 
had  turned  round  with  that  bright  blaze  in  her  blue 
eyes  which  he  had  learnt  to  dread,  and  had  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Why  pester  me — especially  when  we  are  alone — 
with  these  useless  questions  and  formalities  ?  We 
have  arranged,  decided  the  mode  in  which  our  exist- 
ences are  to  be  passed,  if  passed  together — it  is 
enough.  We  remain  together  ostensibly  on  the  con- 
dition that  I  share  this  house  with  you — I  will  have 
no  other  part  in  your  false  life.  And  if  you  cannot 
conform  to  this  arrangement,  then  even  this  appear- 
ance of  union  can — had  best  be — severed." 


DENOUNCED. 
4° 

The  viscount  bit  his  lips  after  her  cold  contemptu- 
ous tones,  yet,  with  that  strange  power  which  he  pos- 
sessed, he  overmastered  the  burning  rage  that  rose 
up  in  his  heart  against  her.  Only  he  asked  himself 
now,  as  often  before  he  had  asked  himself,  would  he 
always  be  able  to  exercise  such  control— able  to  re- 
frain from  bursting  forth  against  her,  and  by  so  doing 
put  an  end  to  the  artificial  existence  they  were  liv- 
ing ? 

But  now  the  morning  had  come  for  him  to  depart 
for  the  country  ;  outside  in  the  square  he  could  hear 
the  horses  shaking  their  harness  while  his  carriage 
waited  for  him ;  it  was  time  for  him  to  go.  There- 
fore he  went  to  his  wife's  morning-room  and  found 
her  ladyship  taking  her  chocolate. 

"  I  come,  madam,"  he  said,  with  that  usual  as- 
sumption of  courtliness  which  he  always  treated  her 
to  since  they  had  become  estranged,  "  to  bid  you 
farewell  for  some  few  weeks.  I  will  notify  you  by 
the  post  of  my  proposed  return.  Meanwhile  your 
ladyship  need  not  be  dull.  You  have  the  entry  now 
to  the  Court  circles,  you  have  also  your  respected 
father  with  you  in  this  house.  And  there  are  many 
friends  of  your  younger  days  in  London  " — he  shot  an 
evil,  oblique  glance  at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye  as  he  said  this,  which  was  not  lost  on  her — "  to 
wit,  Mr.  Archibald  and — and — others.  Doubtless  ere 
I  return  you  may  have  renewed  some  of  your  earlier 
acquaintanceships.  They  should  be  agreeable." 

For  answer  she  gave  him  never  a  word,  but,  stirring 
her  cup  of  chocolate  leisurely,  looked  him  straight  in 
the  face  ;  then  she  let  her  eyes  fall  on  the  journal 
she  had  been  perusing  and  again  commenced  to  do  so 
as  though  he  were  not  in  the  room. 


MY  LORD  GOES  OUT  OF  TOWN.      ^ 

"  Curse  her,"  muttered  her  husband  to  himself  as 
her  indifference  stung  him  to  the  quick,  "  curse  her, 
ere  long  the  bolt  shall  be  sped."  After  which  he  ex- 
claimed : 

"  My  lady,  as  is  ever  the  case,  I  perceive  my  pres- 
ence is  unwelcome.  Once  more  I  bid  you  adieu,"  and 
took  himself  out  of  the  room  and  also  out  of  the 
house.  And  so  he  set  forth  upon  his  journey. 

For  a  young  man  on  the  road  to  his  old  family  seat, 
Lord  Fordingbridge  was  that  morning  strangely  pre- 
occupied and  indifferent  to  the  events  around  him,  and 
sat  in  his  carriage  huddled  up  in  one  corner  of  it  more 
like  an  elderly  sick  man  than  aught  else.  The  cheer- 
ful bustle  of  the  village  of  Islington,  the  pretty 
country  villas  at  Highgate,  the  Iffrks  singing  over 
Finchley  Common  and  Hadley  Green,  had  no  power 
to  rouse  him  from  his  stupor — if  stupor  it  was — 
nor  either  had  the  bright  sun  and  the  warm  balmy 
spring  air  that  came  in  at  the  open  windows.  A 
strange  way  for  an  English  nobleman  to  set  out  upon 
his  journey  to  the  place  where  his  forefathers  had 
dwelt  for  ages  !  A  strange  way,  indeed,  considering 
that  he  might  be  regarded  as  an  extremely  fortunate 
man.  The  head  of  a  family  with  strong  Stuart  tend- 
encies, and  suspected  of  himself  participating  in 
those  tendencies,  he  had  yet  been  at  once  received 
into  favour  by  the  King  on  returning  to  London. 
This  alone  should  have  made  his  heart  light  within 
him,  for  he  had  but  now  to  conform  to  that  King's 
demands  to  pass  the  rest  of  his  existence  in  peace  and 
full  enjoyment  of  his  comfortable  means— to  feel  that 
his  father's  and  his  family's  Jacobitism  was  forgotten, 
that  all  was  well  with  him.  George  was  now  welcom- 
ing to  his  fold  every  exiled  Jacobite  who  had  not 


42  DENOUNCED. 

openly  fought  or  plotted  and  schemed  against  him  in 
the  recent  invasion,  and  many  peers  and  gentlemen 
who  had  long  lived  abroad  in  exile  were  hastening  to 
tender  their  adherence  to  the  German  king,  feeling 
perfectly  sure  that,  after  the  events  of  the  past  three 
months,  the  day  of  the  Stuarts  was  past  and  gone  for 
ever. 

Why,  therefore,  could  not  Simeon  Larpent  look 
forward  as  hopefully  to  the  future  as  all  his  brother 
exiles  who  had  returned  were  doing  ?  Why  !  Was  it 
because  of  the  enmity  of  his  wife  to  him,  an  enmity 
which  he  knew  could  never  slacken  ;  or  was  it  because 
of  his  fear  of  that  other  man  whom  he  had  so  deeply 
wronged;  or  because  of  what  his  scheming  mind  was 
now  fashioning  ?  This  we  shall  see. 

The  roads  were  heavy  with  the  recent  spring 
showers  so  that  the  four  horses  of  his  coach  could 
drag  it  but  tediously  along  them,  and  it  was  nightfall 
ere  South  Mimms  was  reached,  and  night  itself  ere 
they  arrived  at  St.  Albans,  and  Lord  Fordingbridge 
descended  at  the  Angel.  To  the  bowing  landlord  he 
gave  his  name,  and  stated  that  he  wished  a  bed-room 
and  a  parlour  for  himself,  and  a  room  for  his  men  ; 
and  then,  as  he  was  about  to  follow  his  obsequious 
host  up  the  broad  staircase,  he  said,  pulling  out  his 
watch  : 

"  It  is  now  after  seven.  At  nine  I  expect  to  be 
visited  by  a  gentleman  whom  I  have  appointed  to 
meet  me  here.  His  name  is  Captain  Morris.  You 
will  please  entertain  him  at  my  cost  to-night,  and  do 
so  at  your  best.  On  his  arrival,  if  he  hath  not 
supped,  ask  him  to  do  so  ;  if  he  hath,  show  him  in 
at  once  to  me_  Now  I  will  prepare  for  my  own 
meal." 


V. 


43 

Again  Boniface  bowed  low — lower  even  than  be- 
fore, after  he  had  become  acquainted  with  his  visitor's 
rank  and  position — and  escorted  him  to  a  large, 
comfortable  bed-room  on  the  first  floor,  in  which  a 
cheerful  fire  burnt  in  the  grate.  And  throwing  open 
two  heavy  folding-doors,  he  showed  next  a  bright 
sitting-room,  also  with  a  fire,  and  well  lit. 

"  This  will  do  very  well,"  said  his  lordship.  "  Now 
send  my  servant  to  me  with  my  valise.  And  let  him 
wait  on  me  at  table." 

All  through  the  repast  he  partook  of  the  viscount 
meditated  gloomily  and  gravely,  eating  but  little  of 
the  substantial  meal  provided  by  the  landlord,  drink- 
ing sparingly,  and  addressing  no  remark  to  his  serv- 
ant. Then  when  he  had  finished,  he  had  his  chair 
drawn  up  before  the  fire,  a  bottle  of  wine  and  another 
of  brandy  placed  on  the  table,  and,  bidding  the  servant 
withdraw  and  bring  Captain  Morris  to  him  when  he 
should  arrive,  he  again  fell  to  meditating  and  musing, 
speaking  sometimes  aloud  to  himself. 

"  It  is  the  only  way,"  he  muttered,  in  disconnected 
sentences,  "  the  only  way.  And  it  must  be  done  at 
one  swoop;  otherwise  it  is  useless.  So  long  as  one  of 
them  is  free  I  am  fettered.  The  only  way  !  And — 
then — when  that  is  accomplished — to  deal  with  you, 
my  lady.  Let  me  see."  He  began  counting  on  his 
fingers  and  tapping  the  tips  as  still  he  pondered, 
touching  first  his  forefinger,  then  the  second  and  third, 
and  once  or  twice  nodding  his  head  as  though  well 
satisfied  with  himself. 

"As  for  Fane,"  he  muttered  next,  "he  scarce 
counts.  Yet  he,  too,  must  be  taken  care  of.  But  of 
that  later.  Doubtless  when  I  begin  with  my  lady — 
Vengeance  confound  her  !— he  will  become  revengeful, 


44 


DENOUNCED. 


but  before  he  can  do  so — well,  he  will  be  harmless. 
So,  so.  It  should  work." 

The  clock  struck  nine  as  he  spoke,  and  he  com- 
pared it  with  his  great  tortoiseshell  watch,  and  then 
sat  listening.  The  inn  was  very  quiet,  he  doubted  if 
any  other  travellers  were  staying  in  it,  especially  as 
the  coach  from  London  passed  through  early  in  the 
day,  but  outside  in  the  street  there  were  signs  of  life. 
The  rustics  bade  each  other  good-night  as  they 
passed ;  a  woman's  laugh  broke  the  air  now  and 
again;  sometimes  a  dog  barked.  And  at  last,  above 
these  sounds,  he  heard  a  horse's  hoofs  clattering  along 
the  street  as  though  ridden  fast. 

"That,"  said  his  lordship,  "may  be  he.  'Tis  very 
possible.  For  one  of  his  Majesty's  servants,  he  is 
none  too  punctual." 

As  he  spoke  the  horse  drew  up  with  still  more  clat- 
ter at  the  porch  below  his  window,  and  he  heard  a 
clear,  firm  voice  ask  if  Lord  Fordingbridge  had  that 
day  arrived  from  London.  And  two  or  three  moments 
later  his  servant  knocked  at  the  door,  and,  entering, 
said  that  Captain  Morris  was  come. 

"Has  he  supped  ?" 

"  He  says  he  requires  nothing,  my  lord,  but  desires 
to  see  you  at  once.  He  rides  to  Hertford  to-night,  he 
bid  the  landlord  say,  and  has  but  little  time  at  his  dis- 
posal." 

"So  be  it.  Show  him  in,"  and  a  moment  later 
Captain  Morris  entered  the  room. 

A  man  of  something  more  than  ^middle  age,  this 
gentleman's  features,  aquiline  and  clear  cut,  presented 
the  appearance  of  belonging  to  one  in  whom  great 
ability  as  well  as  shrewdness  and  common  sense  were 
combined.  Tall  and  extremely  thin,  his  undress  rid- 


MY  LORD  GOES  OUT  OF  TOWN. 


45 


ing-habit  of  dark  blue  embroidered  with  gold  lace 
set  off  his  figure  to  extreme  advantage,  while  the 
light  sword  he  carried  by  his  side,  his  gold-trimmed 
three-cornered  hat  with  its  black  cockade,  and  his 
long  riding  boots  all  served  to  give  him  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  extremely  gentlemanly  and  elegant 
man. 

"  Welcome,  sir,"  said  Lord  Fordingbridge,  advanc- 
ing to  meet  him  with  extended  hand,  while  at  the  same 
time  he  noticed — and  took  account  of — the  clear  grey 
eyes,  the  thin  lips,  and  aquiline  nose  of  his  visitor. 
"  Welcome,  sir.  I  am  glad  you  have  been  able  to 
reach  here  to-night.  To-morrow  I  must  resume  my 
journey.  Be  seated,  I  beg." 

"  The  orders  which  I  received  from  London,"  re- 
plied Captain  Morris,  in  a  clear,  refined  voice  that 
corresponded  perfectly  with  his  appearance,  "made  it 
imperative  that  I  should  call  on  you  to-night.  As 
your  lordship  may  be  aware,  in  this  locality  I  have 
certain  duties  to  perform  which  can  be  entrusted  to  no 
one  else." 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,"  Fordingbridge  replied.  Then 
he  said,  "  Before  we  commence  our  conversation,  let 
me  offer  you  a  glass  of  wine  or  brandy.  The  night  is 
raw,  and  you  have  doubtless  ridden  long." 

Captain  Morris  bowed,  said  he  would  drink  a  glass 
of  wine,  and,  when  he  had  poured  it  out  of  the  de- 
canter, let  it  stand  by  his  side  untouched  for  the  mo- 
ment. After  which  he  remarked  : 

"  I  understand,  my  lord,  that  I  am  to  receive  from 
your  lips  to-night  some  information  of  considerable 
importance  to  his  Majesty,  touching  those  who  have 
been  engaged  in  plotting  against  his  security.  May  I 
ask  you  to  proceed  at  once  with  what  you  have  to  tell 


,(5  DENOUNCED. 

me?  I  have  still  some  distance  to  ride  to-night,  and 
also  other  work  to  do." 

"Yes,"  answered  Fordingbridge,  "you  have  been 
exactly  informed.  Yet — how  to  tell — how  to  begin,  I 
scarcely  know.  My  object  is  to  put  in  the  King's 
hands — without,  of  course,  letting  it  be  known  that 
the  information  comes  from  me — some  facts  relating 
to  several  notorious  Jacobites  now  sheltering  in  Lon- 
don. Men  who  are,"  he  continued,  speaking  rapidly, 
"inimical  to  his  Majesty's  peace  and  security,  hostile 
to  his  rule,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  bent  at  the  present 
moment  in  endeavouring  in  some  way  to  effect  a  res- 
cue of  the  Scotch  lords  now  in  confinement  at  the 
Tower." 

A  slight  smile  rose  upon  his  visitor's  face  as  he 
uttered  these  last  words;  then  Captain  Morris  said 
quietly  : 

"That  is  hardly  likely  to  come  to  pass,  I  should 
imagine.  The  Tower  does  not  disgorge  its  victims 
freely,  certainly  not  by  force.  As  for  the  Scotch 
lords,  I  am  afraid  they  will  only  quit  the  place  for 
their  trials  and  afterwards  for  Tower  Hill." 

"Yet,"  remarked  Lord  Fordingbridge,  "the  at- 
tempt may  be  made.  Of  the  men  I  speak  of,  two  are 
desperate,  and  both  fought  at  Culloden  and  the  battles 
that  took  place  during  the  Pretender's  march  into 
England.  They  will  stop  at  nothing  if,"  with  a  quick 
glance  at  the  other,  "they  are  not  themselves  first 
stopped." 

"  Give  me  their  names,  if  you  please,"  said  Morris, 
with  military  precision,  as  he  produced  from  his 
pocket  a  notebook,  "  and  where  they  are  to  be  found." 

"  Their  names  are  Bertie  Elphinston  and  Douglas 
Sholto— the  former  a  kinsman  of  the  Lord  Balmarino. 


MY  LORD  GOES  OUT  OF  TOWN. 


47 


Both  have  lived  in  exile  in  France,  serving  in  the 
French  King's  army,  one  in  the  Garde  du  Roi  at  first, 
and  then  in  the  Regiment  of  Picardy.  The  other, 
Sholto,  has  served  in  the  Mousquetaires." 

"Their  names,"  said  Captain  Morris,  "are  not  in 
the  list,"  and  he  turned  over  the  leaves  of  his  note- 
book carefully  as  he  spoke.  "  But  for  you,  my  lord, 
these  men  might  have  escaped  justice.  'Tis  strange 
nothing  was  known  of  them." 

"  They  crossed  from  France  with  Charles  Edward. 
Many  names  of  those  who  accompanied  him  are  prob- 
ably not  known.  You  may  rely  on  my  information. 
I  myself  returned  but  from  France  some  weeks  ago. 
I  know  them  well." 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Captain  Morris.  "  Indeed  ! 
Your  lordship  doubtless  came  to  support  his  Majesty 
shortly  after  so  many  of  his  enemies  crossed  over." 

"  Precisely.  But  I  will  be  frank.  I  should  tell  you 
I  am  myself  a  converted — perverted,  some  would  say 
— Jacobite.  My  father,  the  late  lord,  died  one,  I  do 
not  espouse  his  political  faith." 

Captain  Morris  bowed  gravely ;  then  he  said ; 

"  And  you  know,  therefore,  these  gentlemen — these 
Scotch  rebels." 

"  I  know  them  very  well.  Shall  I  furnish  you  with 
a  description  of  their  persons?" 

"  If  you  please ;  "  and  as  the  captain  replied  to  the 
question,  he — perhaps  unwittingly — pushed  the  un- 
tasted  glass  of  wine  farther  away  from  him  into  thff 
middle  of  the  large  table,  where  it  remained  un- 
drunk. 

After  the  appearance  of  Elphinston  and  Sholto  had 
been  fully  given  and  noted  in  the  captain's  book,  he 
asked : 


48 


DENOUNCED. 


"And  where  are  these  men  to  be  found,  Lord 
Fordingbridge  ? " 

"  They  shelter  themselves  in  the  village  of  Wands- 
worth,  near  London,  in  an  old  house  on  the  Waterside, 
as  the  strand  there  is  called.  It  is  the  first  reached 
from  the  village." 

Again  this  was  written  down,  after  which  Captain 
Morris  rose  to  take  his  departure,  but  my  lord's  tale 
was  not  yet  told.  Pointing  to  the  chair  the  other  had 
risen  from,  he  said  : 

"  I  beg  you  to  be  seated  a  moment  longer.  There 
is  still  another — the  worst  rebel  of  all — of  whom  I 
wish  to  apprise  you.  A  priest." 

"  A  priest !  You  speak  truly ;  they  are,  indeed,  his 
Majesty's  worst  enemies.  A  Jesuit,  of  course?" 

"  Of  course.  With  him  it  will  be  necessary  to  use 
the  most  astute  means  in  the  Government's  power  to 
first  entrap  him,  and  then  to  deal  with  him  afterwards. 
He  should,  indeed,  be  confined  in  total  solitude,  for- 
bidden, above  all  things  else,  to  hold  any  communica- 
tion with  other  rebels." 

"  You  may  depend,  Lord  Fordingbridge,  on  all  being 
done  that  is  necessary,  short  of  execution." 

"  Short  of  execution  !  "  interrupted  the  other. 
"  Short  of  execution !  Why  do  not  the  scheming 
Jesuits — the  mainspring  of  all,  the  cause  of  the  very 
rebellion  but  now  crushed  out — merit  execution  as 
well  as  those  who  routed  Cope's  forces  and  hewed  down 
Cumberland's  men?  Grand  Dieu !  I  should  have 
thought  they  would  have  been  the  first  to  taste  the 
halter." 

"  Possibly,"  replied  the  captain  in  passionless  tones, 
and  with  an  almost  imperceptible  shrug  of  his  shoul- 
ders, "  but  at  present  no  Jesuit  priests  have  been  exe- 


MY   LORD  GOES  OUT   OF   TOWN.  49 

cuted.  I  doubt  if  any  will  be.  The  Government  have 
other  punishments  for  them — exile  to  the  American 
colonies,  and  so  forth.  Now,  my  lord,  this  priest's 
name  and  abode." 

"  He  is  brother  to  Douglas  Sholto,  an  elder  brother 
by  another  mother,  yet  they  have  ever  gone  hand  in 
hand  together.  Named  Archibald,  of  from  thirty-eight 
to  forty  years  of  age.  Crafty,  dissimulating,  and " 

"  That  is  of  course,"  said  Captain  Morris.  "  Now, 
tell  me,  if  you  please,  where  this  man  is  to  be  found. 
Is  he  also  in  hiding  at  Wandsworth  ?" 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  other — and  for  the  first  time 
the  informer  seemed  to  hesitate  in  his  answer.  Yet 
for  a  moment  only,  since  again  he  proceeded  with  his 
story.  "  He  is  disguised,  of  course ;  passes  as  a  Scotch 
merchant  having  business  between  London  and  Paris, 
and  is  known  as  Mr.  Archibald."  He  paused  again, 
and  Captain  Morris's  clear  eyes  rested  on  him  as,  in- 
terrogatively, he  said : 

"Yes?     And  his  abode  ?" 

"  Is  my  own  house.     In  Kensington-square." 

This  time  the  officer  started  perceptibly,  and  fixed 
an  even  more  penetrating  glance  upon  the  other  than 
before.  Indeed,  so  apparent  were  both  the  start  and 
look  of  surprise  on  his  face  that  the  traitor  before 
him  deemed  it  necessary  to  offer  some  excuse  for  his 
strange  revelation. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  in  my  own  house.  It  has  been 
necessary  for  me  to  let  him  hide  there  awhile  the  bet- 
ter to — to  entrap — to  deliver  him  to  justice." 

"Your  lordship  is  indeed  an  ardent  partisan," 
coldly  replied  Captain  Morris  ;  "  the  King  is  much  to 
be  congratulated  on  so  good  a  convert." 

"  The  King  will,  I  trust,  reward  my  devotion.     The 


co  DENOUNCED. 

Stuarts  have  never  shown  any  gratitude  for  all  that 
has  been  done  for  them— by  my  family  as  much  as 
any.  Now,  Captain  Morris,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  told 
you  all  that  I  have  to  tell.  I  have  simply  to  ask  that 
in  no  way  shall  it  be  divulged — as,  indeed,  I  have  the 
promise  of  his  Majesty's  Ministers  that  nothing  shall 
be  divulged — as  to  the  source  whence  this  information 
is  derived.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I  appear 
not  at  all  in  the  matter." 

"  That  is  understood.  The  Secretary  of  State  for 
Scotch  affairs,  from  whom  I  receive  my  instructions, 
knows  your  lordship's  desire,  without  a  doubt." 

"  Precisely.  It  is  with  him  I  have  been  in  communi- 
cation. Yet,  still,  I  would  make  one  other  request.  It 
is  that  Father  Sholto  may  not  be  arrested  in  my  house. 
That  would  be  painful  to — to — Lady  Fordingbridge,  a 
young  and  delicate  woman.  He  can  easily  be  taken 
outside,  since  he  quits  the  house  fearlessly  each  day." 

"That  too,"  replied  Morris,  "  I  will  make  a  note  of 
for  the  Secretary's  consideration.  I  wish  you  now,  my 
lord,  good  evening,"  saying  which  he  bowed  and  went 
toward  the  door. 

"  If  I  could  possibly  prevail  on  you  to  refresh  your- 
self," said  Fordingbridge,  as  he  followed  him  to  it,  "  I 
should  be  happy,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand  as  he 
spoke. 

But  the  captain,  who  seemed  busy  with  his  sash,  or 
sword  belt,  did  not  perhaps  see  the  extended  hand,  and 
muttering  that  he  required  no  refreshment,  withdrew 
from  the  room. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  reached  the  bar  in  the  pas- 
sage below  he  asked  the  smiling  landlady  if  she  could 
give  him  a  glass  of  cordial  to  keep  out  the  rawness  of 
the  night  air,  and  to  fortify  him  for  his  ride.  Also  he 


MY  LORD   GOES  OUT   OF   TOWN.  rj 

asked,  in  so  polite  a  manner  as  to  gratify  the  good 
woman's  heart,  if  he  might  scrawl  a  line  at  her  table 
whereat  she  sat  sewing  and  surrounded  by  her  bottles 
and  glasses.  Buxom  landladies  rarely  refuse  polite- 
nesses to  persons  of  Captain  Morris's  position,  espe- 
cially when  so  captivatingly  arrayed  as  he  was  in  his 
undress  bravery,  and  as  he  wrote  his  message  and 
sealed  it  she  thought  how  gallant  a  gentleman  he  was. 

Then  he  looked  up  and  enquired  if  there  was  any 
ostler  or  idle  postboy  about  the  place  who  could  ride 
for  him  with  a  letter  to-morrow  morning  to  Dunstable, 
and  receiving  a  reply  in  the  affirmative,  paid  for  his 
cordial,  the  hire  of  the  next  morning  messenger  and 
his  horse's  feed,  and  so  bade  her  a  cheerful  good- 
night. 

In  the  yard,  while  his  animal  was  being  brought 
out,  he  looked  with  some  little  interest  at  his  lordship's 
travelling  carriage,  inspected  the  crest  upon  its  panels 
and  the  motto,  and,  tossing  the  fellow  who  brought 
the  nag  a  shilling,  and  seeing  carefully  to  his  holsters, 
rode  away  into  the  night. 

Upstairs,  my  lord,  standing  before  the  fire,  noticed 
the  unemptied  glass  of  wine,  and,  remembering  that 
the  captain  had  not  chosen  to  see  his  outstretched 
hand,  cursed  him  for  an  ill-conditioned  Hanoverian 
cur.  Downstairs,  the  hostess,  being  a  daughter  of 
Eve,  turned  over  the  captain's  letter  addressed  to 
"Josias  Brandon,  Esq.,  Justice  of  the  Peace,"  and 
would  have  given  her  ears,  or  at  least  a  set  of  ear- 
rings, to  know  what  its  contents  were.  Had  she  been 
able  to  see  them  they  probably  would  have  given  her 
food  for  gossip  for  a  twelvemonth,  brief  as  they  were. 
They  ran : 

"  The  Viscount  Fordingbridge  passes  through  Dun- 


52  DENOUNCED. 

stable  to-morrow  in  his  coach  on  his  road  to  Cheshire. 
From  the  time  he  does  so  until  he  returns  through 
your  town  to  London,  he  is  to  be  followed  and  watched 
and  never  lost  sight  of.  Let  me  be  kept  acquainted 
with  all  his  movements — by  special  courier,  if  need- 
ful.— NOEL  MORRIS,  CAPTAIN." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

KATE    MAKES    AN    APPOINTMENT. 

BETWEEN  Lady  Fordingbridge  and  her  father  a 
better  state  of  things  existed  than  that  which  pre- 
vailed between  her  and  her  husband.  Indeed,  Kitty, 
who  could  not  forgive  the  treachery  of  the  man  who 
was  now  her  husband,  could  not,  at  the  same  time, 
bring  herself  to  regard  her  father's  share  in  that 
treachery  in  as  equally  black  a  light.  She  knew  that 
it  was  the  actual  truth  that  he  had  been  much  in  debt 
to  Simeon  Larpent  (as  he  was  then),  and  she  had  per- 
suaded herself  also  to  believe  that  which  he  constantly 
assured  her  was  the  truth — and,  perhaps,  might  have 
been — that  Larpent  would  have  proceeded  against  him 
for  his  debt,  in  spite  of  the  story  Fane  had  been  in- 
structed to  tell  to  the  effect  that  the  other  was  very 
willing  to  continue  their  creditor.  Moreover,  old  and 
feeble  as  her  father  was  now — broken  down  and  un- 
able any  longer  to  earn  bread  to  put  in  their  mouths, 
she  did  not  forget  that,  until  the  events  of  the  last  few 
unhappy  months,  he  had  been  an  excellent  parent  to 
her.  For,  hardly  and  roughly,  by  long  days  of  weary 
work,  the  bread  had  been  earned  somehow,  the  roof 
kept  over  their  heads,  the  clothes  found  for  their  backs. 
Hour  after  hour,  as  she  remembered,  the  worn-out  old 
Irish  gentleman— once  the  brilliant  young  military  ad- 
venturer  had  stood  in  the  room  set  apart  for  the 


C.  DENOUNCED. 

fencing  school,  giving  his  lessons  to  men  young  enough 
to  be  his  sons;  and  also  she  recalled  how  every  night, 
it  seemed  to  her,  he  was  more  fatigued  than  before, 
his  back  a  little  more  bowed,  his  weariness  greater. 
And  as — even  after  the  marriage  had  taken  place  into 
which  she  had  been  hoodwinked — she  thought  of  all 
this,  and  of  how  he  had  grown  older  and  more  feeble 
in  his  fight  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  she  almost 
brought  herself  to  forgive  him  entirely  for  the  great 
wrong  he  had  done  her. 

She  sat  thinking  over  all  this  on  the  morning  after 
her  lord's  departure  for  the  country,  while  opposite  to 
her,  toasting  his  feet  in  front  of  the  fire,  her  father 
sat.  The  old  man  was  well  dressed  now ;  he  was  com- 
fortable and  without  care — an  astute  Irish  attorney 
settled  in  Paris  had  tied  the  viscount  up  as  tightly  as 
possible  in  the  matter  of  jointure,  settlements  and 
dowry  for  Kitty,  not  without  remonstrance  from  Ford- 
ingbridge,  which  was,  however,  unavailing;  and  out  of 
her  own  money  she  had  provided  for  her  father.  And 
as  her  eyes  rested  on  him  she  felt  that,  badly  as  he  had 
behaved  to  her,  she  was  still  glad  to  know  that  his 
laborious  days  were  past.  At  this  time  Kitty  was  very 
near  to  forgiving  him  altogether  ;  her  strong,  loving 
heart  remembering  so  much  of  all  he  had  done  for  her 
in  the  past,  and  forgetting  almost  all  of  his  wrong- 
doing. 

"  What  do  your  letters  say  to  ye,  Kitty,  this  morn- 
ing?" asked  Doyle  Fane,  who,  after  more  than  forty 
years'  absence  from  his  native  land,  still  retained  some 
of  its  rich  raciness  of  tone  and. accent.  "  Ye've  a  big 
post  there  before  ye,  me  child." 

"  Very  little  of  any  importance,"  she  replied.  "  The 
night  coach  through  St.  Albans  brings  me  a  letter  from 


KATE    MAKES   AN   APPOINTMENT.  55 

his  lordship  trusting  I  shall  be  happy  during  his  en- 
forced absence.  Faugh !  Also  there  is  one  by  the 
French  packet  from  Kathleen  Muskerry.  Her  uncle, 
the  priest  at  Marly,  is  removed  to  St.  Roch.  Lady 
Belrose,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  a  month  ago  at 
Leicester  House,  writes  desiring  me  to  accompany  her 
to  the  masquerade  at  Vauxhall." 

"  Good,  me  child,  good.  And  what  for  not  ?  'Twill 
do  ye  good  to  see  some  life,  to " 

"  To  see  some  life  !  "  she  repeated,  "  see  some  life  ! 
In  the  midst  of  death  all  around  us!  " 

"  Death  !  "  the  old  man  repeated.  "  Death  !  Faith, 
I  did  not  know  it.  What  death  is  there  around 
us?" 

"Father!"  she  exclaimed,  looking  at  him,  "is 
there  not  death  all  around — threatening  those  whom 
we  love — whom  we  loved  once  ?  Do  you  not  know 
that  London  is  at  the  present  moment  full  of  followers 
of  the  unhappy  prince,  who,  if  they  are  caught,  must 
be  doomed  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  the  Tower,  New- 
gate, the  New  Gaol  over  the  water  in  Southwark,  is 
crowded  with  such  men,  all  of  whom  have  soon  to 
stand  their  trial  for  high  treason — men  of  whom  we 
have  known  many,  some  of  whom  were  your  pupils  ? 
Father,  this  is  no  time  for  masquerades." 

For  a  moment  the  old  man  gazed  at  her  with  sol- 
emn eyes,  as  though  endeavouring  to  penetrate  her 
mind,  to  discover  if  behind  her  words  there  lay  any 
hidden  meaning;  then  he  asked: 

"  Are  there  any — any  whom — we  know  particularly 
well  among  these  threatened  men  ?  You  may  tell  me, 
Kitty.  You  may  trust  me — now." 

"Is  not  Father  Sholto  in  jeopardy?"  she  asked, 
while  her  eyes  also  rested  on  him  much  as  his  had 


-5  DENOUNCED. 

dwelt  on  her.  Perhaps  she,  too,  was  wondering  if  he 
guessed  to  whom,  more  than  all  others,  her  remarks 
applied.  "  If  he  were  discovered  would  he  not  share 
the  gaol,  if  not  the  scaffold  ?  He  told  us  yesterday 
that  there  was  a  newly-made  law  against  any  Jesuit 
priests  from  France  who  should  be  found  in  Eng- 
land." * 

"Are  there  any — any  others?"  he  almost  whis- 
pered. But  still  her  clear  blue  eyes  regarded  him, 
and  she  spoke  no  word. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said  a  moment  after.  "  Perhaps 
it  may  be,  even  after  so  many  years,  that  I  do  not  de- 
serve your  confidence.  Yet,  Kitty,  I  was  nigh  as 
much  deceived  in  some  things  as  you  were.  Child," 
he  said,  leaning  across  the  table  as  he  spoke,  "  I  swear 
to  you  I  thought  that  man  who  came  to  us  was,  in 
truth,  the  priest,  the  curt  of  Moret.  How  could  I 
know  he  was  a  paid  creature  of  Larpent's,  a  vile  cheat, 
instead  of  the  man  who,  as  I  supposed,  had  tied  the 
hands  of  Bertie  El ? " 

"  Stop,"  said  his  daughter,  "  stop  !  Don't  mention 
that  again.  Let  it  be  done  with,  forgotten  ;  dead  and 
buried.  It  is  past !  Over  !  I — I — am  Lord  Fording- 
bridge's  wife." 

"  Yet  I  must  ask.  I  must  know.  Nay,  I  do  know. 
Fordingbridge  hinted  as  much  to  me  ere  he  set  out. 
Kitty,"  and  now  his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  that  none 
but  she  could  have  heard,  even  though  in  the  room, 
"is  he  in  London  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered  also,  softly  as  a  woman's 
whisper  ever  is.  "Yes.  He  is  here.  Oh,  father !  for 
the  love  of 'God,  betray  us— him— no  more.  For  if 

*  See  Appendix,  note  B— "  Jesuit  Priests  in  England." 


KATE   MAKES   AN  APPOINTMENT. 


57 


you  do,  it  will  not  end  this  time  with  broken  hearts, 
but  with  death." 

"Betray  you,"  he  said,  "betray  you  again!  Why 
will  you  not  believe  me  once  more  ?  See,  Kitty,  see 
here,"  and  as  he  spoke  he  rose  from  his  chair  and 
stood  before  her.  "  I  swear  to  you  that  I  am  true  in 
spite — in  spite  of  what  I  once  did,  partly  in  ignorance 
— unwittingly.  I  myself  loved  Elphinston  and  always 
despised  Larpent.  And  I  did — honestly,  I  did — believe 
that  he  had  married  Mademoiselle  Baufremont." 

"Well,  she  said,  "  well,  he  had  not.  Enough  of 
that.  And,  since  you  ask  me  to  trust  you  once  again 
as  I  trusted  you  before,  I  answer  you — remember  his 
life,  as  well  as  Douglas  Sholto's,  are  in  your  hands — 
he  is  in  London.  Both  are  here." 

"  Tis  madness,"  he  murmured,  "  madness.  For, 
Kitty,  as  sure  as  he  is  here  he  will  be  betrayed.  Ford- 
ingbridge  will  denounce  him." 

"  Alas-!  "  she  replied,  almost  wringing  her  hands, 
"alas!  I  fear  as  much  myself.  Yet  Father  Sholto 
says  not — that  it  is  impossible.  For,  he  declares, 
should  harm  come  to  either  of  them  through  him,  he 
will  cause  him  also  to  be  denounced.  He  knows  some 
secret  as  to  Fordingbridge's  doings  that,  he  says, 
would  bring  him  to  the  block  for  a  surety,  which  se- 
cret, if  he  turns  traitor,  he  will  use  most  remorselessly. 
And,  do  what  he  may,  at  least  he  is  harmless  now. 
He  will  be  in  Cheshire  for  a  month.  By  that  time  I 
pray  that  both  the  others  may  be  beyond  the  seas." 

"Have  you  seen  him?"  he  asked,  still  in  a  low 
voice. 

He  knew  that  in  London  at  this  time  walls  almost 
had  ears,  and  that  every  footman  or  waiting-maid 
might  be  a  spy  of  the  Government— especially  in  a 


58  DENOUNCED. 

house  but  recently  re-opened  after  many  years  of  dis- 
use, and,  consequently,  possessing  a  staff  of  servants 
new  to  their  employers  and  taking  neither  interest  nor 
sympathy  in  their  affairs.  Also  he  knew  that,  in  the 
garb  of  servants,  many  a  Government  agent  was  care- 
fully watching  every  action  of  his  or  her  temporary 
employers.  London  especially  had  but  recently  re- 
covered from  too  great  a  fright  to  cease  as  yet  to 
fear  for  its  safety,  and  saw  a  bugbear  in  many  harm- 
less strangers  now  in  its  midst;  the  house  of  a  noble- 
man returned  recently  from  France — the  birthplace  of 
the  late  invasion — and  known  to  be  a  Catholic,  would, 
therefore,  be  a  particularly  likely  object  to  be  subjected 
to  supervision,  quiet  yet  effectual. 

"No,"  she  replied;  "no,  I  have  not  seen  him. 
God  forbid  I  should.  And  if  I  did,  the  only  words  I 
could,  I  think,  find  heart  to  utter  would  be  to  beseech 
him  to  fly  at  once.  Oh  !  father,  father,  I  dread  some 
awful  calamity,  though  I  know  not  in  what  form  or 
shape  it  may  come." 

As  she  spoke,  a  tap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and,  a 
second  afterwards,  Father  Sholto  entered  the  room, 
while  so  much  had  her  ladyship's  fears  and  tremors 
overcome  her  and  her  father  that  both  exclaimed  at 
once,  in  the  same  words,  "  Is  all  well  ? " 

"In  so  far  as  I  know,"  he  replied,  after  having  ex- 
changed morning  greetings  with  them.  "  As  well  as 
all  will  ever  be.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  Have  you  reason 
to  dread  aught  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  Kitty  replied.  "Still,  I  know  not  why, 
am  strangely  uneasy,  strangely  nervous  to-day. 
Some  feeling  of  impending  ills  seems  to  hang  over 
me." 

"  Yet,"  said  Sholto,  "  if  omens  are  to  be  supposed 


KATE    MAKES  AN   APPOINTMENT. 


59 


to  have  any  power,  no  such  feeling  should  trouble  you 
to-day.  Kitty,  I  bear  good  news " 

"  Good  news  !  "  she  exclaimed.     From — 

"  From  an  acquaintance  of  mine — one  who  is  in  the 
office  of  the  Scotch  Secretary  of  State.  Nay,"  he  went 
on,  seeing  the  look  of  disappointment  on  her  face,  and 
knowing  she  had  expected  matter  of  a  different  kind, 
"'tis  worth  hearing.  Among  the  names  of  those  now 
in  London  for  whom  diligent  search  is  being  made 
— the  names  of  those  who,  if  found,  are  doomed — 
three  do  not  appear — three  in  whom  we  are  con- 
cerned." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Fordingbridge  and 
her  father  together.  "  They  are " 

"Our  two  friends  across  the  river  and — and — 
myself." 

"  Therefore  you  may  escape  at  once  ?  "  she  asked. 
"All  of  you?  There  is  nothing  to  keep  you  here  in 
England— the  Cause  is  broken,  it  can  never  be  regained 
now — you  can  all  depart  in  peace  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  we  can."  But  letting  his  eye  fall 
on  Fane,  he  took  her  a  little  apart  and  said : 

"  Kitty,  we  have  the  chance  of  getting  across  the 
water ;  at  least,  we  are  safe  at  present.  I,  you  know, 
can  go  at  any  moment ;  there  is  nothing  to  detain  me. 
The  glorious  work,  the  accomplishment  of  which  I 
crossed  over  to  see,  will  never  be  done  now — I  may  as 
well  go.  But— shall  the  others  go  too  ?  It  rests  with 
you  to  say." 

"With  me,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him;  "with 
me  ?  Why,  how  should  I  prevent  them  going  ?  Oh 
Archibald,  if  I  could  see  them  I  would  beg  them  on 
my  knees  to  go  while  there  is  yet  time." 

"One  will  not  leave  England  without  the  other; 


50  DENOUNCED. 

Douglas  would  never  go  without  Bertie.  And,  Kitty, 
Elphinston  will  not  go  yet." 

"  Not  yet !  Why  not  ?  What  does  he  tarry  for  ? 
Is  it  to  take  vengeance  on  my  husband,  to — to " 

<%'To  see  you." 

"  To  see  me,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  convul- 
sively together,  while  from  her  soft  blue  eyes  there 
shone  so  bright  a  light  that  Father  Sholto  knew  how 
deeply  the  love  still  dwelt  in  her  heart  for  the  poor 
wanderer  and  outcast ;  "  to  see  me.  Oh !  say,  does 
he  forgive — has  he  sent  me  one  word  of  pardon,  of 
pity  ? " 

"  Ay,  child,  he  forgives,  if  he  has  aught  to  forgive. 
Those  are  his  words.  Yet,  he  bids  me  say,  he  must 
see  you,  speak  with  you  ;  then — then  he  will  go  away 
for  ever.  Now,"  Sholto  went  on,  "  'tis  for  you  to  de- 
cide. If  you  see  him,  there  is  naught  to  prevent  his 
going;  only — I  must  tell  you,  it  is  my  duty  as  a  priest, 
though  you  need  but  little  caution  from  me — remem- 
ber this  man  loves  you  now  as  much  as  he  ever  loved 
you,  and — you  are  another  man's  wife." 

Fane  had  left  the  room  when  the  others  drew  apart 
—perhaps  he  guessed  that  Sholto  had  some  message 
for  his  daughter — so  that  now  they  could  speak  at 
ease.  For  a  moment  Lady  Fordingbridge  seemed  lost 
in  thought — as  though  struggling  between  conflicting 
desires,  the  one  to  see  again  the  man  she  loved,  the 
other  to  know  that  he  was  safe,  a  third  to  remember 
that,  however  hateful  to  her  Lord  Fordingbridge  was, 
she  was  still  his  wife.  Then  suddenly  she  said: 

"You  are  right.  'Tis  best  we  should  not  meet. 
Yet— yet— you  say  he  will  not  quit  England  without 
our  doing  so." 

"I  fear  not.     And  time  is  precious.     Remember, 


KATE   MAKES  AN  APPOINTMENT.  6l 

though  the  names  are  not  in  the  list,  they  may  be  at 
any  moment.  Or  he,  or  both  of  them,  'may  be  de- 
nounced. Many  of  Cumberland's  and  Cope's  regi- 
ments are  back  in  London  ;  they  may  be  recognised  by 
some  against  whom  they  fought,  and,  if  that  were  the 
case,  their  chance  of  existence  would  be  small.  Kitty, 
if  you  are  strong  enough,  as  you  should  be,  'tis  almost 
best  that  you  should  see  him.  Then  he  can  go  in 
peace." 

"  I  am  strong  enough,"  she  replied.  "  Have  no 
fear  of  me ;  Iuhave  none  of  myself.  Yet,  how  can  it 
be  ?  He  cannot  come  here — I  cannot  go  to  him.  But 
oh !  to  hear  from  his  own  lips  that  he  forgave  me,  that 
he  would  think  of  me  sometimes  without  bitterness." 

"  What  answer  shall  I  give  him,  then  ?  " 

"  Does  he  await  one  ? " 

"  Eagerly.  If  you  bade  him  meet  you  in  George's 
Throne-room  he  would  contrive  to  be  there." 

"When  do  you  see  him  again  ?"  she  asked. 

11  To-night,  after  dark." 

"  So  be  it.  To-night  you  shall  bear  him  a  message 
from  me.  Now,  leave  me  a  little  while.  At  dinner 
we  will  meet  again.  Then,  then,  I  will  ask  you  to 
carry  a  note  to  him." 

When  she  was  alone  she  went  to  the  standish  and, 
taking  pens  and  paper,  wrote  two  notes.  The  first  was 
easily  despatched ;  it  simply  told  Lady  Belrose  she 
would  accompany  her  and  her  party  to  Vauxhall  on 
the  following  night.  The  next  took  longer,  caused 
her  much  deliberation. 

She  pined  to  see  the  man  whom  in  her  own  heart 
she  accused  herself  of  having  deceived;  yet  she 
dreaded  the  hour  when  she  should  stand  face  to  face 
with  him.  Alas !  how  could  she  look  into  his  eyes— 


62  DENOUNCED. 

eyes  that  she  feared  would  look  back  but  sternly  upon 
her — and  plead  for  forgiveness,  remembering  that,  had 
she  but  trusted  and  believed  in  him,  they  who  now 
met  as  strangers  would  by  this  time  have  been  man 
and  wife  a  twelvemonth.  Yet,  it  was  not  only  to 
gratify  her  own  desire  to  once  more  touch  his  hand 
and  hear  his  voice,  even  though  that  voice  should  re- 
proach her,  that  she  desired  to  see  him.  It  was  also 
to  save  him,  since  he  would  leave  the  country,  he  had 
said,  after  they  had  once  met. 

So,  at  last,  she  decided  it  should  be  so.  She  would 
see  him  once,  would  take  his  pardon  from  his  own  lips 
— Sholto  had  said  that  he  forgave  her — and  then  she 
would  bid  him  go  and  consult  nothing  but  his  own 
safety  and  that  of  his  true  and  tried  friend. 

She  took  the  pen  in  her  hand  again  and  drew  the 
paper  towards  her,  but,  at  first,  she  knew  not  what  to 
say.  In  the  previous  letter  she  had  sent  him  the  words 
and  ideas  had  come  easily  enough,  for  then  she  was 
writing  a  straightforward  narrative  with,  in  it,  a  sad 
plea  for  forgiveness.  But  now  it  was  different.  She 
was  making  an  assignation  with  a  man  she  had  once 
loved — once! — she  was  deceiving  her  husband. 

"  Bah  !  "  she  said,  as  this  thought  rose  to  her  mind. 
"  If  'tis  deception  let  it  be  so.  Out  of  his  deceit  to 
me  is  borne  mine  to  him." 

Whereon  once  more  she  pondered  a  moment  on 
what  she  should  say,  and  then  wrote : 

"  Lady  Fordingbridge  will  be  at  the  masquerade  at 
Vauxhall  to-morrow  night.  May  she  hope  she  will 
hear  none  but  gentle  words  there  ? " 

That  was  all. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
"THE  BIRD  THAT  DANCED  THE  RIGADOON." 

THE  rejoicings  into  which  London  broke  out  when, 
at  last,  the  Scottish  rebellion  was  decisively  crushed 
caused  Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall  Gardens  to  be,  perhaps, 
more  frequented  in  the  warm  spring  and  summer  of 
1746  than  they  had  ever  been  previously.  Indeed, 
after  the  fright  which  had  fallen  upon  the  capital 
when  the  news  came  that  the  Highland  troops  were 
at  Derby  and  within  four  days'  march  of  London,  it 
was  not  very  astonishing  that  the  inhabitants  should, 
on  the  removal  of  that  terror,  give  themselves  up  to 
wholesale  amusement.  Six  months  before,  imminent 
ruin  stared  them  in  the  face ;  the  Bank  of  England,  by 
that  time  regarded  as  being  almost  as  stable  an  insti- 
tution as  it  is  now  considered,  had  only  escaped  closing 
its  doors  by  the  oft-quoted  artifice  of  paying  the  de- 
mands made  on  it  in  sixpences.  Regiments  engaged 
in  foreign  campaigns — Ligonier's  Horse  and  Hawley's 
and  Rich's  Dragoons — had  been  hurried  home  from 
Williamstadt ;  Admiral  Vernon  and  Commodores  Bos- 
cawen  and  Smith  were  each  at  sea  with  a  squadron 
looking  for  ships  carrying  the  invaders;  while  fifty 
merchantmen,  styled  "armed  cruisers,"  were  patrol- 
ling the  Channels  round  our  shores.  Also,  as  an  out- 
come of  the  panic,  the  inhabitants  of  London  had  pur- 
chased for  the  army  about  to  take  the  field  against  the 


64  DENOUNCED. 

Pretender,  12,000  pairs  of  breeches  and  the  same  num- 
ber of  pairs  of  woollen  gloves,  12,000  shirts,  10,000 
woollen  caps  and  pairs  of  stockings,  and  9,000  pairs 
of  woollen  spatterdashes;  while,  not  to  be  outdone  by 
the  other  citizens,  the  managers  of  the  then  existing 
London  theatres  offered  to  form  the  members  of  their 
various  companies  into  volunteers  attached  to  the  City 
regiment. 

But,  ere  the  springtime  had  come,  the  invasion  was 
over,  the  danger  past.  The  young  Duke  of  Cumber- 
land, fresh  from  his  triumphs  in  Flanders,  had  not 
only  destroyed  the  rebel  army,  but  had  taken  terrible 
and  bloody  vengeance  upon  all  who  had  opposed  him. 
Therefore  London — indeed,  all  England — slept  again 
in  safety  at  night,  and  with  the  arrival  of  summer  had 
plunged  with  greater  fervour  than  ever  into  all  its 
usual  enjoyments.  Amongst  the  enjoyments  of  the 
former  none  were  more  popular  than  those  of  Rane- 
lagh  and  Vauxhall  Gardens,  the  latter  being  more 
generally  known  and  spoken  of  at  that  period  as  the 
Spring  Gardens.  Here,  on  the  warm  evenings  which 
May  brought  with  it,  until  the  fashionable  world  de- 
parted for  its  country  seats,  or  for  Bath,  Epsom,  or 
Tunbridge,  went  on  one  continual  round  of  pleasures 
and  festivities — one  night  a  masquerade,  another  a 
concert,  vocal  and  instrumental,  where,  among  others, 
the  mysterious  Tenducci — whose  sex  was  always  mat- 
ter of  discussion — sang  and  warbled,  sometimes  in  a 
man's  voice,  sometimes  in  a  woman's;  illuminations 
took  place  every  evening,  and,  as  they  died  out  and 
the  company  departed,  the  nightingales  might  be  heard 
singing  in  the  neighbouring  fields  and  groves. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  warm  May  nights  that  the 
wherry  which  brought  Lady  Belrose's  party  from  Pirn- 


"THE   BIRD   THAT   DANCED   THE  RIGADOON."    65 

lico  Fields  to  the  Spring  Gardens  arrived  at  the  latter 
place,  while,  as  the  boat  touched  the  shore,  from  the 
gardens  might  already  be  heard  the  orchestra  playing. 
In  the  wherry  sat,  of  course,  Lady  Belrose  herself,  a 
still  young  and  still  good-looking  woman,  who,  being  a 
widow,  thought  herself  entitled  to  always  have  in  at- 
tendance upon  her  some  beau  or  other,  and  who,  to- 
night, had  brought  two,  one  a  young  lad  from  Oxford, 
the  other  almost  as  young  a  man,  Sir  Charles  Ames. 
By  her  side  sat  Lady  Fordingbridge,  whose  plain  even- 
ing frock  contrasted  somewhat  strongly  with  that  of 
her  friend,  who  was  arrayed  in  a  gorgeous  brocade 
silk,  while  one  of  her  cavaliers  carried  over  his  arm 
a  green  velvet  mantle  laced  with  gold,  in  case  the 
evening  turned  cold  and  she  should  .have  occasion 
for  it. 

"  I  protest,"  said  her  ladyship,  as  stepping  ashore 
she  put  on  her  mask,  in  which  she  was  copied  by  the 
others — "  I  protest  the  very  sound  of  the  fiddles 
squeaking  makes  me  long  for  a  dance.  Mr.  Fane," 
she  said,  turning  to  that  gentleman,  who  formed  the 
last  member  of  the  party,  "am  I  to  have  you  for  a 
partner  to-night  ?" 

Fane  bowed  and  responded  politely  that  he  only 
trusted  his  old  age  and  stiff  joints  would  not  prevent 
him  from  making  himself  acceptable,  on  at  least  one 
occasion,  to  her  ladyship;  while  Sir  Charles  Ames, 
turning  to  Kitty,  desired  to  know  if  she  would  so  far 
favour  him  as  to  give  him  a  dance. 

But  Lady  Belrose,  who  had  already  gathered  from 
her  friend  that  she  only  made  one  of  the  party  be- 
cause of  a  serious  and  grave  interview  which  she  antici- 
pated having  with  a  gentleman  whom  she  might  meet 
at  the  ffa,  here  interposed  and,  in  a  few  well-chosen 


66  DENOUNCED. 

words,  gave  the  baronet  to  understand  that  to  dance 
was  not  Lady  Fordingbridge's  desire  that  evening. 
"She  is  not  well,"  she  said,  "and  will  simply  be  an 
onlooker.  Meanwhile,  doubtless  I  can  find  you  a 
sufficiency  of  partners  among  other  friends."  To  this 
the  young  man  protested  that  there  was  no  need  for 
Lady  Belrose  to  endeavour  to  find  him  partners  among 
her  friends,  since,  if  she  would  but  condescend  to  be 
his  partner,  he  could  not  possibly  desire  any  other, 
and  so,  with  these  interchanges  of  politeness,  they  en- 
tered the  gardens. 

On  this  particular  night  at  Vauxhall — the  opening 
masquerade  of  the  season — the  fashionable  world,  as 
well  as  those  who,  though  not  in  that  world  them- 
selves, loved  to  gaze  on  the  happier  beings  who  were 
of  it,  assembled  in  large  numbers  and  in  a  variety 
of  costumes.  Scaramouches  in  their  black  dresses, 
toques  and  masks,  with  rush  lances  in  their  hands, 
mingled  with  dancing  girls  clad  in  the  Turkish  cos- 
tumes still  known  in  these  days  as  "  Roxanas,"  in 
memory  of  the  infamous  woman  who  had  first  worn 
this  garb ;  shepherdesses  walked  arm-in-arm  with  men 
dressed  as  grave  and  reverend  clergymen  ;  assumed 
victims  of  the  Inquisition,  invested  in  the  San  Benito, 
pirouetted  and  twirled  with  brazen-faced  and  under- 
clad  Iphigenias  and  Phrynes — for  the  world  was  none 
too  modest  in  those  days ! — mock  soldiers,  knights 
and  satyrs,  harlequins,  and  men  in  wizard's  garments 
danced  and  drank,  laughed  and  shouted  with  milk- 
maids, nuns,  and  Joans  of  Arc.  And  to  testify,  per- 
haps, the  fact  that  they  had  not  forgotten  the  dan- 
gers through  which  the  country  had  recently  passed, 
and  also,  perhaps,  to  hurl  one  last  taunt  at  their 
crushed  and  broken  foes,  many  of  the  maskers  had 


"THE   BIRD    THAT   DANCED   THE   RIGADOON."    67 

arrayed  themselves  in  the  garbs  of  their  late  enemies 
— for  some  strutted  round  and  round  the  orchestra 
pavilion  and  banqueting  room  dressed  as  Highlanders 
or  French  officers,  others  as  miserable  Scotch  peas- 
ants having  in  their  hands  flails  and  reaping  hooks. 
Others,  again,  had  even  attempted  to  portray  the 
character  of  the  unhappy  Charles  Edward,  now  in 
hiding  in  the  Scotch  wilds,  and,  as  they  danced  and 
sang  or  drank  their  glasses  of  ale  and  ate  their  two- 
penny slices  of  hung-beef,  and  endeavoured  even  by 
their  conversation  to  ape  what  they  imagined  to  be 
the  Scotch  dialect.  At  the  same  time,  outside  all  this 
seething,  painted,  and  bedizened  crowd  were  many 
others  of  the  better  classes,  such  as  those  who  formed 
Lady  Belrose's  party,  or  visitors  of  a  similar  degree, 
who  contented  themselves  by  concealing  their  identity 
with  masks,  vizards,  and  dominos,  or  with  hoods  and 
laces. 

In  a  somewhat  retired  spot  beneath  where  stood  a 
noble  statue  of  Handel,  now  nearing  his  last  days, 
executed  by  Roubiliac,  and  at  the  back  of  which 
were  a  small  wooded  green  and  bosquet  in  which  were 
many  arbours,  Lady  Belrose  and  her  friends  sat  down 
to  watch  the  kaleidoscopic  crowd.  Here,  Sir  Charles 
Ames,  summoning  a  waiter,  bade  him  bring  refresh- 
ments for  the  party — viz.,  some  iced  fruits  and  a  flask 
of  champagne — and  they  being  partaken  of,  he  in- 
vited her  ladyship  to  honour  him  by  becoming  his 
partner  in  a  quadrille  de  contredanse,  a  new  style  of 
dancing  introduced  into  the  French  ballets  a  year  or 
so  before,  and  but  just  come  over  to  London.  This  the 
sprightly  lady  accepted  at  once,  having  already  per- 
fected herself  in  the  new  divertissement  under  Duhar- 
nel's  tuition ;  but,  on  her  other  cavalier  desiring  also 


gg  DENOUNCED. 

the  honour  of  Lady  Fordingbridge's  hand,  Kitty  re- 
fused, on  the  ground  that  she  knew  not  the  dance,  and 
neither  was  she  very  well. 

"  I*  faith,  Kate,"  said  Lady  Belrose,  as  she  shook 
her  sack  over  her  great  balloon-shaped  hoop  and  fast- 
ened her  mask  more  tightly  under  her  hood,  "yet  have 
you  lost  but  little  to-night.  The  quadrille  is  well 
enough  in  our  own  houses  or  on  our  country  lawns; 
here,  I  protest,  the  noise,  the  dust,  and  the  stench  of 
the  oil  lamps,  to  say  nothing  of  the  unknown  and, 
doubtless,  unclean  creatures  with  whom  we  rub  shoul- 
ders and  touch  hands,  do  not  recommend  it  over- 
much. However,  lead  me  to  it,  Sir  Charles,  since  you 
will  have  it  so,"  and  in  another  moment  she,  with  her 
partner  and  the  others  who  formed  the  sets,  were  bow- 
ing and  curtseying  to  each  other. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Wynn,  Lady  Belrose's  second  string, 
having  begged  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  find  a  part- 
ner and  himself  join  in  a  set,  since  Lady  Fordingbridge 
was  so  obdurate  (he,  too,  had  been  learning  the  new 
dance  from  Monsieur  Duharnel),  took  himself  off,  so 
that  Kitty  and  her  father  were  left  alone  together. 
And  now  it  was  that  she,  after  scanning  each  male 
figure  that  was  "more  than  common  tall,"  began  to 
tremble  a  little  in  her  limbs  and  to  feel  as  though  she 
were  about  to  faint.  For  in  that  portion  of  the  crowd 
which  was  not  dancing  and  which  still  followed  its 
leaders  round  and  round  the  orchestra  pavilion,  there- 
by illustrating  the  words  of  Bloomfield,  a  poet  of  the 
period,  who  wrote : 

First  we  traced  the  gay  circle  all  round, 
Ay — and  then  we  went  round  it  again — 

she  saw  two  forms  that,  she  doubted  not,  were  those 


"THE   BIRD   THAT   DANCED   THE   RIGADOON."    69 

for  whom  she  looked — partly  in  eagerness,  partly  with 
nervousness. 

These  maskers  did  not  walk  side  by  side,  but  one 
behind  the  other,  and,  possibly,  to  ordinary  onlookers 
would  not  have  appeared  to  have  any  connection  with 
each  other.  Yet  Kitty  knew  very  well  that,  insepara- 
ble in  almost  all  else,  they  were  now  equally  so.  The 
first,  who  was  the  tallest,  was  clad  in  a  costume,  per- 
haps unique  that  night  in  the  Spring  Gardens,  perhaps 
almost  unique  among  the  many  costumes  that  have 
ever  been  assumed  since  first  masquerades  were  in- 
vented. It  was  that  of  the  headsman.  Arrayed  in  the 
garb  of  that  dismal  functionary,  a  rusty  black  velvet 
suit,  with  the  breeches  and  black  woollen  stockings  to 
match,  the  masker  might  yet  have  failed  to  inform 
those  who  saw  him  of  the  character  he  wished  to  por- 
tray, had  it  not  been  for  at  least  one  other  accessory. 
On  his  back,  strapped  across  it,  he  carried  the  long, 
narrow-bladed  axe  used  for  decapitation,  its  handle 
fringed  and  tasselled  with  leathern  thongs.  Yet  there 
were  other  tokens  also  of  the  part  he  represented.  In 
a  girdle  round  his  waistcoat  he  bore  a  formidable  knife 
having  a  blade  a  foot  long  and  an  inch  and  a  half  deep — 
the  knife  with  which  the  doomsman  finished  his  ghastly 
task  if  the  axe  failed  to  do  its  duty,  as  had  too  often 
happened.  His  mask,  too,  was  not  that  of  the  ordi- 
nary reveller  at  such  places  as  this,  not  a  mask  made 
ostensibly  to  conceal  the  features,  yet,  as  often  as  not, 
revealing  them  almost  as  clearly  as  though  it  had  not 
been  assumed;  instead,  it  was  long  and  full,  covering 
not  only  the  eyes  and  the  bridge  of  the  nose,  but  also 
the  whole  of  the  upper  part  of  the  face,  and  leaving 
only  visible  the  lower  jaw  and  the  two  ends  of  a  thick 
brown  moustache  that  hung  below  it.  Alone  by  that 


~o  DENOUNCED. 

moustache  would  Kitty  have  known  the  wearer,  if  by 
no  other  sign.  It  had  been  pressed  too  often  against 
her  own  lips  for  her  to  forget  it !  Yet,  also,  would  she 
have  known  him  without  it.  His  companion,  the  man 
who  followed  after  him,  was  not  so  conspicuous  by  his 
appearance.  He,  indeed,  wrapped  in  a  long  brown 
woollen  cloak  which  descended  to  his  shoes  and  must 
have  been  more  than  warm  on  such  an  evening  as  this, 
with  at  his  side  a  Scotch  claymore,  or  broadsword,  and 
on  his  head  a  Scotch  bonnet — the  mask,  of  course, 
being  worn — passed  among  the  crowd  as  an  excellent 
representative  of  their  now  despised  and  fallen  ene- 
mies. Yet,  had  that  crowd  known  that  amongst  them 
stalked  in  reality  one  whose  prowess  had  been  terribly 
conspicuous  when  exhibited  against  their  own  soldiers, 
they  might  not  have  gazed  as  approvingly  as  they  now 
did  on  Douglas  Sholto. 

As  Kitty  regarded  these  two  figures — still  trembling 
and  feeling  as  though  she  were  about  to  faint — she 
saw  the  eyes  of  the  former  one  fix  themselves  upon 
her,  and  observed  him  hesitate  for  a  moment  ere  con- 
tinuing his  course,  then,  in  an  instant,  he  went  on 
again  in  the  stream  that  continued  to  revolve  round 
the  orchestra  pavilion.  And  she  knew  that  a  few  mo- 
ments would  bring  him  again  before  her. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  nerving  herself  to  that  inter- 
view which  she  so  ardently  desired,  yet  which,  woman- 
like, she  almost  feared  now,  "  the  green  behind  looks 
cool  and  invitjng,  especially  now  that  the  sun  is  gone 
and  the  lamps  are  lit.  I  will  stroll  down  there  awhile 
and  take  the  air.  Meanwhile,  rest  you  here— there  is 
some  more  champagne  in  the  flask— and  keep  these 
seats  until  the  others  come  back.  The  contredanse 
will  be  finished  just  now." 


"THE   BIRD   THAT   DANCED   THE   RIGADOON."    71 

"  Mind  no  gallant  treats  ye  rudely,  child.  The 
crowd  is  none  too  orderly  as  regards  some  of  its  mem- 
bers. Ladies  alone,  and  without  a  cavalier,  may  be 
roughly  accosted." 

"  Have  no  fear,"  she  said,  "  I  can  protect  myself.  I 
shall  be  back  ere  Lady  Belrose  takes  part  in  the  next 
dance,"  saying  which  she  turned  and  went  down  the 
walk  that  led  between  the  grassy  lawn  and  the  arbours, 
in  each  of  which  now  twinkled  the  many-coloured  oil 
lamps.  And,  as  she  so  turned,  that  portion  of  the 
maskers  in  which  was  the  man  dressed  as  the  heads- 
man passed  by  the  chair  she  had  just  vacated,  and  she 
knew  that  he  must  have  seen  her  rise  and  move  away. 

A  few  moments  later  she  was  aware  that  such  was 
the  case.  A  heavy  tread  sounded  behind  her — she  had 
now  advanced  considerably  down  the  path  and  had  al- 
most reached  a  rustic  copse,  in  which  were  two  or  three 
small  arbours — another  instant,  and  the  voice  she 
longed  yet  feared  to  hear,  the  voice  that  she  thought 
trembled  a  little  as  it  spoke,  addressed  her: 

"Is  Lady  Fordingbridge  not  afraid  to  separate 
herself  from  her  party  thus?"  she  heard  Bertie  El- 
phinston  say — surely  his  voice  quivered  as  he  spoke. 
"  Or  does  pity  prompt  her  to  do  so ;  pity  for  an- 
other?" 

"  Lady  Fordingbridge,"  she  replied,  knowing  that 
her  own  voice  was  not  well  under  control,  "  has  no 
fear  of  anyone,  unless  it  be  of  those  whom,  all  unwit- 
tingly, she  has  injured."  Then,  scarcely  knowing  what 
she  said,  or  whether  her  words  were  intelligible,  and 
feeling  at  a  loss  what  else  to  say,  she  gazed  up  at  him 
and  exclaimed,  "You  come  to  these  festivities  in  a 
strange  garb,  sir.  Surely  the  executioner's  is  scarcely 
a  suitable  one  for  a  night  of  rejoicing." 


72  DENOUNCED. 

"  Yet  suitable  to  him  who  wears  it.  Perhaps  'tis 
best  that  I  who  may  apprehend " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Elphinston  !  "  she  exclaimed  suddenly, 
interrupting  him,  "  it  was  not  to  hear  such  words  as 
these  that  I  came  here  to-night.  You  know  why  I 
have  sought  this  meeting;  have  you  nought  to  say  to 
me  but  this  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  yes.  But  let  us  not  stand  here 
upon  the  path  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  all  the  crowd. 
Come,  let  us  enter  this  arbour.  We  shall  be  unob- 
served there." 

She  followed  him  into  the  one  by  which  they  were 
standing,  and — for  she  felt  her  limbs  were  trembling 
beneath  her — sank  on  to  a  rustic  bench.  And  he, 
standing  above  her,  went  on  : 

"  The  letter  that  you  sent  to  me  asked  that  I 
should  pity  and  forgive  you.  Kate,  we  meet  again, 
perhaps  for  the  last  time  on  earth  ;  let  me  say  at  once, 
there  is  nothing  for  me  to  forgive.  If  fault  there  was, 
then  it  was  mine.  Let  mine,  too,  be  the  blame.  I 
should  have  told  you  that  Elphinston  of  Glenbervy 
was  about  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Baufremont.  Yet, 
he  had  sworn  me  to  silence,  had  bidden  me,  upon  our 
distant  kinsmanship,  to  hold  my  peace,  had  sought  my 
assistance  to  enable  him  to  wed  the  woman  whom  he 
loved.  How  could  I  disclose  his  secret  even  to  you  ? 
How  could  I  foresee  that  a  scheming  devil  would  turn 
so  small  a  thing  to  so  great  an  account  ? " 

"But,"  she  said,  gazing  up  at  him  and  noticing — 
for  both  had  instinctively  unmasked  at  the  same  time 
— how  worn  his  face  was,  how,  alas !  in  his  brown  hair 
there  ran  grey  threads  though  he  was  still  so  young; 
"  but  why,  to  all  those  letters  I  sent,  was  no  answer 
vouchsafed  ?  I  thought  from  one  or  from  the  other 


"THE   BIRD   THAT  DANCED  THE  RIGADOON."    73 

some  reply  must  surely  come.  Have  you  forgotten 
how,  for  many  years  now,  we  four — Douglas  and  Archi- 
bald, you  and  I — had  all  been  as  brothers  and  sister 

until — until,"  she  broke  off,  and  then  continued : 
"  how  we  had  vowed  that  between  us  all  there  should 
be  a  link  and  bond  of  friendship  that  should  be  in- 
cessable  ? " 

"I  have  forgotten  nothing,"  he  replied,  "nothing. 
No  word  that  was  ever  spoken  between  us,  no  vow,  nor 
promise  ever  made." 

Again  the  soft  blue  eyes  were  turned  to  him,  im- 
ploringly it  seemed ;  begging  by  their  glance  that  he 
should  spare  her.  And,  ceasing  to  speak  of  his  re- 
membrance of  the  past,  he  continued :  "  Circumstances, 
strange  though  they  were,  prevented  any  one  of  us 
from  receiving  your  letters — or  from  answering  them 
in  time.  I  was  lying  ill  of  Roman  fever  at  the  English 
College  ;  Archibald  Sholto  was  in  Tuscany  in  the  train 
of  Charles  Edward,  Cardinal  Aquaviva  having  pro- 
vided their  passports ;  Douglas  was  with  De  Roque- 
feuille,  and  received  your  letter  only  on  his  return  to 
Paris,  where  it  had  been  sent  back  to  him.  Kate,  in 
that  stirring  time,  when  the  prince  was  passing  from 
Rome  to  Picardy,  was  it  strange  no  answer  should 
come  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied.  "  No,"  and  as  she  spoke 
she  clasped  both  of  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  bent  her 
head  to  hide  her  tears.  Then  she  muttered,  yet  not  so 
low  but  that  he  could  hear  her  :  "  Had  I  but  waited  ! 
but  trusted !  " 

"  It  would  have  been  best,"  he  said  very  gently. 
And  as  he  spoke,  as  though  in  mockery  of  their  sad 
hearts,  many  of  the  maskers  went  by  laughing  and 
jesting,  and  the  quadrille  being  finished  the  band  was 


74 


DENOUNCED. 


playing  the  merry  old  tune  of  "  The  Bird  that  danced 
the  Rigadoon." 

"  You  hear  the  air  ?  "  she  said,  looking  up  suddenly 
again.  "You  hear?  Oh!  my  heart  will  break." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  hear." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  FORTUNE  !    AN    UNRELENTING    FOE    TO    LOVE." 

THAT  song  in  the  old  days  in  the  Rue  Trousse- 
Vache  had  been  the  air  which  Bertie  Elphinston  had 
whistled  many  a  time  to  Kate  to  let  her  know  that  he 
was  about  to  enter  the  "  salle  d'escrime,"  or  to  make 
her  look  out  of  the  window  and  see  the  flowers  he  had 
brought  her  from  his  mother's  garden  in  the  suburbs. 
Also,  on  a  Sunday  morning  early,  he  had  often  stood 
beneath  the  window  of  her  room  and  had  piped  the 
"  Rigadoon  "  to  remind  her  that  it  was  time  for  them 
to  be  away  for  their  day's  outing.  For  in  those  happy 
times — alas !  but  a  year  ago— these  two  fond,  happy 
lovers  had  spent  every  Sabbath  together  and  alone. 
Arm  in  arm  the  whole  day;  or,  when  the  soft  summer 
nights  fell  over  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  or  the  woods  of 
St.  Germain  or  the  Forest  of  Fontainebleau,  his  arm 
round  her  waist  and  her  soft  fair  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  they  had  wandered  together,  taking  a  light 
meal  here  and  there  at  any  roadside  auberge  they  hap- 
pened on,  and  then  both  going  back  to  supper,  at  her 
father's  little  house,  where,  as  they  had  done  all  day, 
they  talked  of  the  future  that  was  before  them. 

And   now    the   future   had    come   and   they   were 
parted  for  ever  !      No  wonder   that   the  old    French 
song  which    had    found    its  way  to    England   grated 
harshly  on  their  ears. 
6 


76 


DENOUNCED. 


"Thank  God,  'tis  finished,"  he  said,  as  the  orches- 
tra struck  up  a  dance  tune  next.  "  For  us,  to  our 
hearts,  it  awakens  memories  best  left  to  slumber  for 
ever."  Then  sitting  down  by  her  side  on  the  rustic 
bench,  he  continued  :  "  Kate,  you  wrote  in  your  letter 
to  me,"  and  he  touched  his  breast  involuntarily  as  he 
spoke,  so  that  she  knew  he  bore  it  about  him,  "  that 
there  was  private  treachery  to  be  feared.  Is  it  to  be 
feared  from  him  ?  " 

"Alas!"  she  whispered,  "I  almost  dread  'tis  so. 
He  is  not  satisfied  yet ;  he — 

"  He  should  be  !     He  has  all  I  wanted." 

"  To  injure  you,"  she  continued,  "  would  be,  as  he 
knows,  the  best  way  to  strike  at  me." 

"  To  strike  at  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  repay  me  for  my  scorn  and  contempt — 
my  hate  of  him." 

"  You  hate  him  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  From  the  depths  of  my  heart.  How  can  it  be 
otherwise  ?  His  treachery — when  I  learnt  it — made 
me  despise  him ;  his  conduct  since  has  turned  my 
contempt  to  hatred.  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is 
awful,  terrible  for  a  woman  to  hate  her  husband  ! 
Yet  what  cause  have  I  to  do  aught  else  ?  When  he 
speaks — though  I  have  long  since  ceased  to  reply  to 
anything  he  says— his  words  are  nothing  but  sneers 
and  scorn  ;  sometimes  of  you,  sometimes  of  me.  And 
he  gloats  over  having  separated  us,  of  having  taken 
your  place,  while  at  the  same  time  he  is  so  bitter 
against  me  that,  if  he  dared,  I  believe  he  would  kill 
me.  Moreover,  he  fears  your  vengeance.  That  is 
another  reason  why,  if  he  could  betray  you  to  the 
Government,  he  would." 

1  'Tis  by  betrayal  alone  that  we  can  be  injured," 


FORTUNE!   AN  UNRELENTING  FOE  TO  LOVE." 


77 


Bertie  said,  thoughtfully.  "  None  of  our  names  are 
known,  nor  in  the  proscribed  list.  Yet  how  can  he 
do  it  ?  He  it  was  who  planned  the  attack  upon  the 
Fubbs  *  to  be  made  when  the  Elector  crossed  from 
Holland  ;  he  who  disseminated  the  tracts,  nay,  had 
them  printed,  counselling  his  taking  off.  He  was 
worse  than  any — no  honest  Jacobite  ever  stooped  to 
assassination  ! — and  many  of  us  know  it." 

"  Be  sure,"  she  replied,  "  that  what  he  could  do 
would  be  done  in  secret ;  Bert — Mr.  Elphinston,  who 
is  that  man  who  has  passed  the  arbour  twice  or  more, 
and  looks  always  so  fixedly  at  you  ? " 

"  I  know  not,"  he  replied,  "  yet  he  has  been  ever 
near  Douglas  and  me — he  and  another  man — since 
we  entered  the  gardens.  Perhaps  a  Government  spy. 
Well,  he  can  know  nought  of  me." 

The  man  she  had  mentioned  was  a  tall,  stoutly- 
built  individual,  plainly  enough  clad  in  an  old  rusty 
black  suit  of  broadcloth,  patched  black  stockings 
and  thick-soled  shoes  with  rusty  iron  buckles  upon 
them,  and  bore  at  his  side  a  stout  hanger.  He  might 
be  a  spy,  it  was  true,  but  he  might  also  have  been 
anything  else,  a  low  follower  of  the  worst  creatures 
who  infested  the  gardens,  a  gambling-hell  tout,  or  a 
bagnio  pimp.  Yet  his  glance  from  under  his  vizard 
was  keen  and  penetrating  as  it  was  fixed  on  them, 
but  especially  on  Elphinston,  each  time  he  passed  the 
summer  house  wherein  they  sat. 

But  now  their  conversation,  which  to  both  seemed 
all  too  short  and  to  have  left  so  much  unsaid,  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  advent  of  Douglas  Sholto,  who  came 

*  The  remarkable  name  of  one  of  the  royal  yachts  of 
George  II. 


78  DENOUNCED. 

swiftly  down  the  shell-strewn  path,  and,  seeing  them 
in  the  arbour,  paused  and  entered  at  once. 

"  Kitty,"  he  said,  grasping  her  hand,  "  this  is  not 
the  greeting  I  had  intended  to  give  you,  though  it's 
good  to  look  upon  your  bonnie  face  again.  But, 
Bertie,  listen.  We  are  watched,  followed,  perhaps 
known;  indeed,  I  am  sure  of  it.  One  of  those  fellows 
who  have  kept  near  to  us,  and  whom  we  saw  at  Wands- 
worth  as  we  set  forth — I  see  the  other  down  the  path 
— spoke  but  now  to  three  soldiers  of  the  Coldstreams. 
Perhaps  'twas  to  identify  us  ;  you  remember  the  First 
Battalion  at  Culloden,"  he  added  grimly  ;  "  perhaps 
to  call  on  them  for  help.  Bertie,  we  must  be  away  at 
once." 

"  Tis  as  I  suspected,"  said  Lady  Fordingbridge, 
now  pale  as  ashes  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
"  My  words  have  too  soon  come  true.  How,- how  has 
he  done  it  ?  " 

"  Farewell,  Kate,"  said  Bertie  Elphinston,  "  we 
must,  indeed,  hasten  if  this  is  true.  Yet  first  let  me 
take  you  to  your  father  and  friends.  Then,"  with  a 
firm  set  look  on  his  face,  he  said,  "  Douglas  and  I 
must  see  our  way  through  this,  if  'tis  as  he  suspe-cts. 
Come,  Kate." 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  imploringly.  "  Wait  not  to 
think  of  me.  Begone  while  there  is  yet  time.  Lose 
no  moment.  Farewell,  farewell.  WTe  may  meet  again 
yet." 

But  ere  another  word  could  be  said  a  fresh  inter- 
ruption occurred.  From  either  end  of  the  path  that 
ran  between  the  arbour  and  the  lawn,  both  spies — for 
such  they  soon  proclaimed  themselves — advanced  to 
where  the  others  were  ;  the  first,  the  one  of  whom 
Kate  had  spoken,  coming  back  from  the  end  by  the 


"  FORTUNE  !  AN  UNRELENTING  FOE  TO  LOVE.' 


79 


bosquet,  the  other  from  the  platform  where  the  orches- 
tra and  dancing  were.  And  in  the  deepening  twilight, 
for  it  was  now  almost  dark,  the  three  soldiers  of  the 
Coldstreams  came  too,  followed  by  two  others  belong- 
ing to  the  "  Old  Buffs,"  a  regiment  also  just  brought 
back  to  London  after  Falkirk  and  Culloden.  And 
behind  these  followed  a  small  knot  of  visitors  to  the 
gardens  who  had  gleaned  that  there  was  something 
unusual  taking  place,  or  about  to  do  so. 

"  Your  names,"  said  the  first  man,  who  had  kept 
watch  over  the  movements  of  Elphinston,  as  he  came 
close  to  the  two  comrades,  while  his  own  companion 
and  the  soldiers  also  drew  very  near,  "are,  if  I  mistake 
riot,  Bertie  Elphinston  and  Douglas  Sholto.  Is  that 
the  case  ? " 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  former,  "  I  would  bid  you 
have  a  care  how  you  ask  persons  unknown  to  you,  and 
to  whom  you  are  unknown,  what  their  names  are.  It 
is  a  somewhat  perilous  proceeding  to  take  liberties 
with  strangers  thus." 

"You  are  not  persons  unknown  to  me.  I  can  give 
a  full  description  of  your  actions  during  the  last  year, 
which  would  cause  you  to  be  torn  limb  from  limb  by 
the  people  in  this  garden.  As  it  is,  I  require  you  to 
go  with  us  to  the  nearest  magistrate,  where  I  shall 
swear  an  information  against  you,  and " 

"  By  what  process,"  asked  Douglas  Sholto,  "  do 
you  propose  to  carry  out  your  requirements  ?  By  your 
own  efforts,  perhaps?" 

"  By  our  own  efforts,  aided  by  those  of  five  sol- 
diers here,  of  several  others  now  in  the  Spring  Gar- 
dens, and  by  the  general  company  herein  assembled,  if 
necessary.  But  come,  sirs,  we  trifle  time  away.  Will 
you  come,  or  won't  you  ?  " 


g0  DENOUNCED. 

For  answer  Douglas  Sholto  dealt  the  man  such  a 
blow  with  his  fist  that  he  fell  back  shrieking  that  his 
jaw  was  broken  ;  while  his  comrade,  calling  on  the  sol- 
diers for  aid  in  the  name  of  the  King  against  rebels 
who  had  fought  at  Culloden,  hurled  himself  on  Elphin- 
ston,  with  his  sword  drawn  and  in  his  hand.  But  the 
latter,  drawing  from  his  back  the  long  lean-bladed  axe, 
presented  so  formidable  an  appearance,  that  the  other 
shrank  back  appalled,  though  he  called  on  the  soldiers 
still  for  assistance. 

"  Beware,"  said  Elphinston,  as  he  ranged  himself 
by  the  side  of  his  friend,  "  beware  !  We  are  not  men 
to  be  played  with,  and,  as  sure  as  there's  a  heaven 
above,  if  any  of  you  come  within  swing  of  my  arm,  I'll 
lop  your  heads  off !  " 

"  The  hound  fought  at  Culloden  ;  I  saw  him  there," 
said  one  of  the  Coldstreams.  "By  heavens,  I'll  at- 
tempt it  on  him  if  he  had  fifty  axes,"  and  so  saying  he 
sprang  full  at  the  young  Scotchman.  As  he  came,  the 
latter  might  have  cleft  his  head  open  from  scalp  to 
chin,  but  he  was  a  soldier  himself ;  and  the  other  had 
not  drawn  the  short  sword  he  wore  at  his  side  ere  he 
Hew  at  him.  Therefore,  he  only  seized  him  by  the 
throat  as  he  would  have  seized  a  mad  bull-dog  that  at- 
tacked him,  and  in  a  minute  had  hurled  the  fellow  back 
among  the  others.  But  now  all  the  soldiers  as  well 
as  the  two  police  agents  had  had  time  to  draw  their 
weapons,  and  seven  gleaming  blades  were  presented 
at  the  breasts  of  the  two  young  men  when  a  timely 
assistance  arrived. 

Sir  Charles  Ames  burst  through  the  crowd  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  antagonists,  his  own  bright  court  ra- 
pier flashing  in  the  air,  and  following  him  came  Mr. 
Wynn  and  Doyle  Fane,  also  with  their  weapons  drawn. 


"FORTUNE!  AN  UNRELENTING  FOE  TO  LOVE."    gl 

"For  shame!  For  shame!"  said  Sir  Charles. 
"  Five  great  hulking  soldiers  and  two  others  against 
two  men.  Put  up  your  weapons,  or  we'll  make  you." 

"Put  up  your  own,"  said  one  of  the  Old  Buffs; 
"  they  are  rebels.  Curse  them  !  We  have  met  before," 
and  as  he  spoke  he  lunged  full  at  the  breast  of  Elphin- 
ston. 

"  Hoot !  "  said  Fane,  the  spirit  of  the  old  swords- 
man, the  old  Irishman,  aroused  at  this,  "if  it's  for  tilt- 
ing, my  boys,  come  along.  It's  a  pretty  dance  I'll 
teach  ye.  There,  now,  look  to  that."  And  with  the 
easiest  twist  of  his  wrist  he  parried  the  soldier's  thrust 
at  Elphinston,  with  another  he  had  slit  the  sleeve  of 
the  man's  uniform  to  the  elbow,  while  a  thin  line  of 
blood  ran  quickly  out  from  his  arm. 

"  My  word,"  he  continued,  "  I've  always  said  the 
worst  hands  in  the  world  with  a  sword  were  soldiers — 
of  these  present  days.  Your  mother's  broom  handles 
would  suit  ye  better,"  whereon  he  turned  his  point 
towards  another. 

Meanwhile  Sir  Charles  Ames  had  placed  himself  by 
Bertie  and  Douglas,  and  had  already  exchanged  sev- 
eral passes  with  the  others,  when,  stepping  back  a  mo- 
ment into  the  arbour,  he  saw  to  his  intense  astonish- 
ment the  figure  of  Kitty,  she  being  in  a  swoon,  and 
consequently  unconscious. 

"  Lady  Fordingbridge,"  he  murmured,  "  Lady  Ford- 
ingbridge.  So,  so  !  A  little  assignation  with  our  rebel 
friends.  Humph  !  I'd  scarce  have  thought  it  of  her. 
However,  'tis  no  affair  of  mine,  and  as  she's  Molly  Bel- 
rose's  friend,  why,  I  must  be  the  same  to  her  friends." 
Whereon  he  again  took  his  place  alongside  the  two 
Jacobites  and  assisted  at  keeping  the  others  at  bay. 

But  the  crowd  still  augmented  in  their  neighbour- 


g2  DENOUNCED. 

hood,  and  while  the  soldiers — all  of  whom  had  of  late 
fought  in  Flanders  as  well  as  Scotland,  and  were  as 
fierce  as  their  chief,  Cumberland — were  pressing  the 
others  hardly,  some  of  the  livelier  masqueraders  began 
to  feel  disposed  to  assist  one  side  or  another.  There- 
fore, 'twas  almost  a  riot  that  now  prevailed  in  the 
Spring  Gardens ;  and  as  among  the  company  there  were 
numerous  other  Jacobites,  who,  although  they  had 
probably  not  been  out  with  Charles  Stuart,  were  very 
keen  in  their  sympathies  with  his  cause,  they  took  the 
opportunity  of  joining  the  fracas  on  their  own  account 
and  of  breaking  the  heads  of  several  Hanoverian  sup- 
porters. And  also,  gathering  that  the  scene  arose 
from  the  attempted  apprehension  of  two  of  their  own 
leaning,  they  gradually  directed  their  way  towards  the 
arbour  where  the  affray  had  begun — summarily  knock- 
ing down  or  tripping  up  all  who  opposed  them,  so  that 
the  next  morning  many  shopboys,  city  clerks,  and  re- 
spectable city  puts  themselves  appeared  at  their  places 
of  business  with  broken  crowns,  bruised  faces,  and 
black  eyes. 

At  present  nothing  serious  had  occurred  beyond  a 
few  surface  wounds  given  on  either  side ;  the  soldiers 
and  police  agents  were  no  match  for  the  five  skilful 
swordsmen  to  whom  they  were  opposed,  and  the  latter 
refrained  from  shedding  the  blood  of  men  beneath  them. 

"Yet,"  said  Sir  Charles  Ames  to  Mr.  Wynn,  while 
he  wiped  his  face  with  his  lace-embroidered  handker- 
chief, "  if  the  canaille  do  not  desist  soon  I  must  pink 
one  for  the  sake  of  my  gentility.  Wynn,  where  is  Lady 
Belrose  during  this  pleasing  interlude?" 

"  Safe  in  the  supper  room,"  replied  the  young  beau. 
"  She  is  very  well.  I  saw  to  that.  Ames,  who  are 
these  stalwart  Highlanders  whose  cause  we  espouse  ? " 


"FORTUNE!  AN  UNRELENTING  FOE  TO  LOVE."    83 

"  The  devil  himself  only  knows,"  replied  the  world- 
ly exquisite.  "  Ha  !  would  you  ? "  to  one  of  the  Cold- 
streams  as  he  tried  a  pass  at  him.  "  Go  home,  my  man, 
go  home.  I  know  your  colonel;  you  shall  be  whipped 
for  this.  Yet,"  he  whispered  to  his  friend,  "  I  do  think 
these  knocks  are/0#r  les  beaux  yeux  de  madame.  What's 
that  shout?" 

"  The  constables,  I  imagine." 

"  The  more  the  merrier  !  Ha  !  Wynn,  we  are  borne 
along  the  path.  The  deuce  take  it,  we  have  lost  the 
shelter  of  the  arbour  !  " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,"  whispered  Elphinston  to  the 
baronet,  "  as  I  see  you  are  a  gentleman,  go  back  and 
look  to  Lady  Fordingbridge.  I  cannot  see  her  after 
to-night — sir,  on  your  honour,  tell  her  '  All  is  well.' 
She  will  understand." 

"  On  my  honour,  I  will,"  the  baronet  replied.  "  Lon- 
don will  be  too  hot  for  you — perhaps  for  me,  too.  I 
do  fear  I'm  a  little  of  a  Stuart  myself;  but  listen,  my 
aunt,  Lady  Ames,  lives  at  Kensington,  by  the  Gravel 
Pits ;  direct  a  letter  to — to  the  fair  one,  under  cover 
to  my  respected  relative,  and  she  shall  get  it.  Oh, 
no  thanks,  I  beg  ;  I  have  my  own  affaires  de  caur.  I 
know,  I  know " 

And  now  the  mtlee  became  more  general,  and  grad- 
ually the  partisans  of  both  sides  were  borne  asunder, 
two  only  keeping  together,  Bertie  and  Douglas. 

"Where  is  Fane?"  whispered  the  former. 

"With  Kate.  I  saw  him  in  the  bower  with-  her. 
Heaven  grant -" 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  man  who  at  this  moment 
ranged  himself  alongside  them  both,  and  who  mut- 
tered, "  Follow  me,  through  the  copse  here.  There  is 
an  exit  by  which  you  can  escape  from  the  gardens. 


84 


DENOUNCED. 


Back  yourselves  to  the  copse  as  easily  as  you  can, 
then  watch  my  movements." 

"  To  leave  her  thus  is  impossible  !  "  exclaimed  El- 
phinston.  "  I  cannot." 

"  Tush,  nonsense !"  replied  Sholto,  "her  father  is 
with  her  and  our  dandy  friends  by  now.  Come,  come, 
we  can  do  better  for  her  and  all  of  us  by  escaping  than 
by  being  taken." 

"  But  Fane;  they  will  arrest  him." 

"  If  they  do  he  has  his  answer.  He  was  protecting 
his  daughter.  And  her  position  will  assure  his. 
Come,  Bertie,  come.  Once  outside,  we  can  seek  new 
lodgings  in  another  part  of  the  town;  put  on  new  dis- 
guises. Come." 

All  the  time  this  colloquy  had  taken  place  they 
had  still  been  struggling  with  others,  though  by  now 
the  affray  had  lost  the  sanguinary  character  it  once 
threatened  to  possess.  The  soldiers  and  the  agents 
were  separated  from  them  by  a  mass  of  people,  among 
whom  were  many  of  their  sympathisers;  but  none 
were  using  deadly  weapons,  rather  preferring  buffet- 
ing and  hustling  than  aught  else.  So  that,  as  the  tall 
man  entered  another  summer  house  and,  dragging 
Sholto  and  Elphinston  after  him,  shut  a  door  which 
guarded  its  entrance,  the  thing  was  done  so  quickly 
that  the  two  originals  of  the  disturbance  had  disap- 
peared in  the  darkness  ere  they  were  missed. 

"  This,"  said  the  man,  "  is  a  private  entrance  and 
exit,  reserved  for  some  very  high  and  mighty  person- 
ages whom  I  need  not  mention.  They  are  good  pa- 
trons of  ours — I  am  the  proprietor's,  Mr.  Jonathan 
Tyers,  chief  subordinate.  Also  a  Scotchman  like  your- 
selves, or  by  now  you  would  probably  have  been 
taken.  Hark  to  them  !  " 


"  FORTUNE  !  AN  UNRELENTING  FOE  TO  LOVE."  85 

The  people  were  howling  outside,  "  Down  with  the 
rebels!"  "Find  the  Culloden  dogs  and  cut  them  to 
pieces  !  "  etc.,  the  soldiers'  voices  being  heard  the  loud- 
est of  all,  while  in  response  many  shouted,  "  Charlie 
Stuart  for  aye  ! "  and  some  bolder  spirits  shrieked  a 
then  well-known  song,  "  The  Restoration,"  which  had 
been  originally  composed  in  honour  of  the  return  of 
Charles  II. 

"Come,"  said  the  tall  man,  "come,  your  safety  is 
here."  Wherewith  he  opened  another  door  in  the  back 
of  the  arbour  and  showed  them  a  quiet  leafy  lane 
which  was  entirely  deserted.  There,"  he  continued, 
"  is  your  way.  Follow  the  grove  in  this  direction,  and 
'twill  bring  you  to  Kennington,"  and  he  pointed  south  ; 
"  the  other  leads  to  the  river.  Fare  ye  well,  and  if  you 
are  both  wise,  quit  London  as  soon  as  you  have 
changed  your  garments.  For  myself  I  must  go  round 
to  the  front  entrance ;  if  I  go  back  through  the  gar- 
dens I  may  be  called  to  account  by  the  mob  for  your 
escape." 

Upon  which,  and  not  waiting  for  his  countrymen's 
thanks,  he  took  himself  off  quickly. 

"Which  way  now,  Bertie?"  asked  Douglas. 
"  Wandsworth  is  done  with.  Where  to  ? " 

"To  Kensington.  I,  at  least,  must  watch  the 
square  to  see  if  Kate  gets  safe  back  to  her  home." 

"  Then  we  go  together.  Only,  what  of  these  ac- 
cursed clothes?  We  must  make  shift  to  get  rid  of 
them." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

DENOUNCED. 

To  put  the  river  between  them  and  their  late  an- 
tagonists and  would-be  captors  naturally  occurred  to 
the  young  men  as  their  wisest  plan,  although  as,  urged 
by  Douglas,  the  other  strode  towards  it,  he  more  than 
once  reproached  himself  for  coming  away  and  leaving 
Lady  Fordingbridge  behind.  Nor  could  any  words 
uttered  by  his  friend  persuade  him  to  regard  his  de- 
parture as  anything  else  than  pusillanimous. 

"  She  went  there  to  meet  me ;  to  see  me  once 
again,"  he  repeated,  "and  I  have  left  her  to  Heaven 
knows  what  peril.  These  men  know  me — know  us — 
well  enough  for  what  we  are.  'Tis  not  difficult  to 
guess  whence  comes  their  knowledge  !  They  may  ac- 
cuse her  of  being  a  rebel,  too.  Oh  !  Kate,  Kate!  what 
will  be  the  end  of  it  all ;  what  the  finish  of  our  wrecked 
and  ruined  lives  ?" 

"  No  harm  can  come  to  her,  I  tell  you,"  replied  his 
comrade.  "  Why,  man,  heart  up !  Has  not  the  fox, 
Fordingbridge,  made  his  peace  with  George;  how  shall 
they  arrest  his  wife  or  her  father  as  rebels  ?  Tush  ! 
'tis  not  to  be  thought  on.  Come,  fling  away  as  much 
of  this  disguise  as  possible.  We  near  the  end  of  the 
lane,  and  I  can  hear  the  shouts  of  the  watermen  to 
their  fares ;  and  still  we  must  go  a  mile  or  two  higher 
up  and  take  boat  ourselves." 

86 


DENOUNCED.  g* 

As  he  spoke  he  discarded  his  own  woollen  cloak, 
and  tossed  it  over  a  high  fence  into  the  grounds  of  a 
country  house  by  which  they  were  now  passing,  while, 
slowly  enough,  for  his  heart  was  sore  within  him, 
Bertie  imitated  his  actions.  The  axe  (which,  like  the 
principal  part  of  his  dress,  had  been  hired  from  a  cos- 
turner  or  fashioner — a  class  of  tradesmen  more  com- 
mon even  in  those  days  than  these,  since  fancy  dresses 
were  greatly  in  demand  for  the  masques,  ridottos  al 
fresco,  and  fancy  dress  balls  which  took  place  so  fre- 
quently) had  been  lost  in  the  latter  part  of  the  riot, 
and  now  he  discarded  also  the  peculiar  mask  he  had 
worn,  producing  from  his  pocket  the  ordinary  vizard 
used  at  such  entertainments,  and  which  the  fore- 
thought of  Douglas  had  induced  him  to  bring.  For 
the  rest,  his  clothes  would  attract  no  attention.  They 
were  suitable  either  to  a  man  whose  circumstances 
did  not  permit  of  his  wearing  velvet,  silk,  or  fine 
broadcloth,  or  to  one  who  had  assumed  the  simple 
disguise  of  a  superior  workingman.  The  headsman's 
knife,  however,  he  did  not  discard,  but  slipped  up  his 
sleeve,  and  Douglas  retained  his  sword. 

And  now  they  drew  near  to  the  end  of  the  lane, 
when,  to  their  satisfaction,  they  perceived  an  alley 
running  out  of  it  and  parallel  to  the  course  of  the 
river,  as  they  supposed,  by  the  aid  of  which  they  might 
be  enabled  to  follow  its  course  for  some  distance  with- 
out coming  out  on  to  the  bank  where,  at  this  moment, 
there  would  be  many  persons  from  the  garden  taking 
boat  to  the  other  side. 

"  Fortune  favours  us  up  to  now,"  exclaimed  Sholto 
to  his  moody  companion,  as  they  turned  into  this 
smaller  lane ;  "  Heaven  grant  it  may  continue  to  do 
so!"  Then,  changing  the  subject,  he  said,  "Bertie, 


gg  DENOUNCED. 

lad,  who  do  you  think  set  those  bloodhounds  on  us  ? 
'Twas  some  one  who  knew  of  our  hiding-hole.  As  we 
remarked,  we  were  followed  from  Wandsworth." 

"Who!"  said  Elphinston,  stopping  to  look  in  his 
friend's  face  and  peering  at  him  under  the  light  of  the 
stars,  "who,  but  one  ?  The  man  whom  I  have  to  kill ; 
whom  I  am  ordained  to  kill  sooner  or  later." 

"You  will  kill  him?"  the  other  asked,  stopping 
also. 

"As  a  dog,  when  next  I  see  him — or,  no,  not  as  a 
dog,  for  that  is  a  creature  faithful  and  true,  and  can- 
not conceive  treachery — but  as  some  poisonous,  devil- 
ish thing,  adder  or  snake,  that  stings  us  to  the  death 
when  least  we  expect  the  blow.  Why,"  he  asked, 
pausing,  "do  you  shudder?" 

"I  know  not,"  replied  Douglas;  "yet  I  have  done 
so  more  than  once  when  his  name  has  been  men- 
tioned. I  know  not  why,"  he  repeated,  "  unless  I  am 
fey." 

"Fey!  fey!"  echoed  Elphinston.  "Let  him  be 
fey !  He  should  be !  It  is  predestined  ;  his  fate  at 
my  hands  is  near.  He  cannot  avoid  it." 

As  they  ceased  speaking  they  continued  on  their 
way  until,  at  last,  the  lane  opened  on  to  a  dreary 
waste  of  fields  and  marshes  which  stretched  towards 
the  very  places  which  they  most  desired  to  avoid, 
Battersea  and  Wandsworth  ;  while  opposite  to  them, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  were  the  equally  dreary 
marshes  known  as  Tothill  and  Pimlico  Fields. 

"  I'  faith,"  said  Douglas,  as  his  eye  roamed  over 
all  this  extent  of  barrenness,  which  was  more  appar- 
ent than  it  would  otherwise  have  been  owing  to  the 
late  rising  of  the  moon,  now  near  its  full,  "  I'  faith, 
we're  atwixt  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea — or,  so  to 


DENOUNCED. 


89 


speak,  the  river.     How  are  we  to  cross ;  or  shall  we 
go  back  and  over  the  bridge  at  Westminster  ? " 

"  Nay,"  replied  Bertie ;  "  as  we  came  down  the 
lane  I  saw  a  house  to  the  right  of  us;  doubtless  'tis 
to  that  the  lane  belongs.  Now,  'tis  certain  there  must 
be  boats  somewhere.  Let  us  down  to  the  shore  and 
see.  Hark  !  there  is  the  clock  of  Chelsea  Church 
striking.  The  west  wind  brings  the  sound  across  the 
marshes.  Ha !  'tis  eleven  of  the  clock.  Come,  let  us 
waste  no  time." 

They  turned  therefore  down  to  the  river's  bank, 
walking  as  quietly  as  possible  so  that  their  feet  should 
make  no  more  noise  than  necessary  on  the  stones  and 
shingle,  for  it  was  now  low  tide;  and  then,  to  their 
great  joy,  they  saw  drawn  up  by  the  water's  edge  a 
small  wherry  in  which  sat  a  man,  and  by  his  side 
he  had  a  lantern  that  glimmered  brightly  in  the 
night. 

"  Friend,"  said  Elphinston,  "  we  have  missed  our 
way  after  leaving  the  Spring  Gardens  ;  can  you  put 
across  the  river  ?  We  will  pay  you  for  your  trouble." 

The  fellow  looked  at  them  civilly  enough,  then  he 
said,  "  Yes,  so  that  you  waste  no  time.  I  have  busi- 
ness here  which  I  may  not  leave  for  more  than  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour.  Wilt  give  me  a  crown  to  ferry  you 
across  ? " 

"  The  price  is  somewhat  high,"  said  Douglas.  "  Yet, 
since  we  would  not  sleep  in  these  marshes  all  night, 
nor  retrace  our  steps  to  Westminster  Bridge,  we'll 
do  it." 

"  In  with  you,  then,"  replied  the  man,  "  yet,  first 
give  me  the  crown  ;  I  have  been  deceived  by  dissolute 
maskers  ere  now."  Then,  when  he  had  received  the 
money,  he  said  he  supposed  Ranelagh  or  the  New 


go  DENOUNCED. 

Chelsea  Waterworks  *  would  do  very  well.  "  Aye," 
said  Douglas,  "  they  will  do,"  whereupon,  having 
taken  their  seats,  the  man  briskly  ferried  them 
across. 

Yet,  as  they  traversed  the  river,  the  fear  sprang 
into  their  hearts  that  they  had  been  tracked  from 
Vauxhall,  that  even  yet  they  were  not  safe  from 
pursuit.  For  scarcely  were  they  half  way  across  the 
stream  when  the  man's  lantern,  which  he  had  left  on 
the  bank — perhaps  as  a  signal — was  violently  waved 
about  in  the  air  by  some  hand,  while  a  couple  of 
torches  were  also  seen  flickering  near  it  and  voices 
were  heard  calling  to  him. 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  "  the  man  bellowed  back  ;  "  ay  !  ay  ! 
What  !  may  I  not  earn  a  crown  while  you  do  your 
dirty  work  ?  In  good  time.  In  good  time,"  he  roared 
still  louder,  in  response  to  further  calls  from  the  bank, 
while  he  pulled  more  lustily  than  before  towards  the 
north  shore. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Elphinston.  "  Who  are  they 
who  seem  so  impatient  for  your  services?" 

"  A  pack  of  fools,"  the  man  replied.  "  Young 
sprigs  of  fashion  who  have  been  quarrelling  there," 
nodding  towards  Ranelagh  Gardens,  to  which  they 
were  now  close,  "  quarrelling  over  their  wine  and  their 
women,  I  do  guess,  and  two  of  them  have  crossed 
over  to  measure  the  length  of  their  swords.  Well, 
well ;  if  one's  left  on  the  grass  I'll  be  there  pretty 
soon  to  see  what  pickings  there  are  in  his  pockets. 
'Tis  the  fools  that  provide  the  wise  men's  feasts," 
whereon  this  philosopher  pulled  his  boat  to  the 
bank,  set  the  young  men  ashore,  and,  a  moment 

*  Inaugurated  1724. 


DENOUNCED.  9! 

later,  was  quickly  pulling  away  back  to  the  duelling 
party. 

Ranelagh  itself  was  shut  up  as  they  stepped  ashore, 
all  its  lights  were  out  and  the  hackney  coachmen  and 
chairmen  gone  with  their  last  fares ;  and  of  that 
night's  entertainment — which  was  sure  to  have  been 
a  great  one  in  rivalry  to  its  neighbour  and  opponent 
at  Vauxhall — nothing  was  left  but  the  shouting  figures 
of  those  on  the  other  bank,  and,  perhaps,  a  dead  man 
on  the  grass  of  the  marshes,  with  a  sword-thrust 
through  his  lungs  and  his  wide-staring  eyes  gazing  up 
at  the  moon.  It  seemed,  therefore,  that  they  must 
walk  to  Kensington,  since  no  conveyance  was  to  be 
found  here. 

"  Not  that  the  distance  is  much,"  said  Bertie  El- 
phinston,  who  had  before  now  walked  at  nights  from 
Wandsworth  and  Chelsea  to  the  Square,  simply  to 
gaze  on  the  house  that  enshrined  the  woman  he  had 
loved  so  much  ;  perhaps  also  to  see  the  place  where 
the  man  dwelt  whom  he  meant  to  kill  when  the  op- 
portunity should  arise — "  but  'tis  the  hour  that  grows 
so  late.  If  they  have  gone  home  at  once  from  the 
gardens  without  being  disturbed  by  any  of  the  police 
agents,  she  must  be  housed  by  now — and — and — I 
cannot  see  her  again." 

"At  least  you  can  wait.  If  not  to-day,  then  to- 
morrow you  can  meet,  surely.  All  trace  of  us  is  lost 
now,  we  shall  never  go  back  to  Wandsworth — we  must 
send  the  landlady  our  debt  by  some  sure  hand — a 
change  of  clothes  and  hiding  place  will  put  us  in 
safety  again.  And  as  for  messages,  why,  Archibald 
will  convey  them." 

"  Archibald  !  "  exclaimed  the  other  with  a  start. 
"Archibald!  Heavens!  we  had  forgotten  !  — what 

7 


g2  DENOUNCED. 

have  we  been  thinking  of  ?  He  may  be  taken 
too." 

"  Taken  !  Archibald  taken  !  Oh,  Bertie,  why  should 
that  be  ?  " 

"  Why  should  it  be  !  Rather  ask,  why  should  it 
not  be  ?  Do  you  think  that  tiger's  whelp  who  has  set 
the  law  on  us  will  spare  him  ?  No,  Simeon  Larpent 
means  to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  all  at  once;  his  wife's 
old  lover,  that  lover's  friend,  and  the  priest  who 
knows  so  much  of  his  early  life  and  all  his  secrets, 
plots  and  intrigues  against  first  one  and  then  the 
other,  Jacobite  and  Hanoverian  alike.  I  tell  you, 
Archibald  is  in  as  great  a  danger  as  we  are  !  "  and  he 
strode  on  determinately  as  he  spoke. 

Their  way  lay  now  towards  Knightsbridge  by  a 
fair,  broad  road  through  the  fields,  and  between  some 
isolated  houses  and  villas  that  were  dotted  about ;  and 
as  by  this  time  the  moon  was  well  up,  everything  they 
passed  could  be  seen  distinctly.  Of  people,  they  met 
or  passed  scarcely  any  ;  the  road  that,  an  hour  or  so 
before,  had  been  covered  with  revellers  of  all  degrees 
wending  their  way  back  from  Ranelagh  to  the  suburbs 
of  Chelsea,  Kensington,  and  Knightsbridge,  or  to 
what  had,  even  in  those  days,  been  already  called 
"  The  Great  City,"  was  now,  with  midnight  at  hand, 
as  deserted  as  a  country  lane.  Yet  one  sign  they  did 
see  of  the  debaucheries  that  took  place  in  Ranelagh 
as  well  as  in  the  Spring  Gardens ;  a  sign  of  the 
drunkenness  and  depravities  that  prevailed  terribly  in 
those  days  among  almost  all  classes.  Lying  at  the 
side  of  the  road,  where,  doubtless,  they  had  fallen  to- 
gether as  they  reeled  away  from  the  night's  orgie,  they 
perceived  two  young  men  and  a  young  woman- 
masked,  and  presenting  a  weird  appearance  as  they 


DENOUNCED. 


93 


lay  on  their  backs,  their  flushed  faces  turned  up  to 
the  moon,  yet  with  the  upper  part  hidden  by  the  black 
vizard.  It  was  easy  to  perceive  that  all  had  fallen 
together  and  been  afterwards  unable  to  rise — as  they 
lay  side  by  side  they  were  still  arm  in  arm,  and,  doubt- 
less, the  first  who  had  fallen  had  dragged  the  others 
after  him.  The  two  young  men  seemed  from  their 
apparel  to  be  of  a  respectable  class,  perhaps  clerks  or 
scriveners,  their  clothes  being  of  good  cloth,  though 
not  at  all  belaced  ;  as  for  their  companion,  the  bac- 
chante by  their  sides,  she  might  have  been  anything 
from  shopgirl  or  boothdancer  down  to  demirep. 

"  Now,"  said  Douglas,  "  here  is  our  chance  for 
disguise.  These  fellows  have  good  enough  coats  and 
hats — see,  too,  they  sport  the  black  cockade.  Well, 
'twill  not  hurt  them  to  sell  us  some  apparel."  Where- 
with he  proceeded  to  lift  the  nearest  sot  up  and  relieve 
him  of  his  coat,  waistcoat,  and  hat.  Apparently  the 
fellow  thought  he  was  being  put  to  bed  by  some  one, 
as  he  muttered  indistinctly,  "  Hang  coat  over  chair— 
shan't  wear  it  'gain  till  Sunday  "—but  as  Douglas 
slipped  a  couple  of  guineas  into  his  breeches  pocket 
he  went  to  sleep  peacefully  enough  once  more.  As 
for  the  other  young  man,  he  never  stirred  at  all  while 
Bertie  removed  his  garments,  nor  when  he  put  into 
his  pocket  a  similar  sum  of  two  guineas,  and  also 
his  copper-cased  watch,  which  had  slipped  from  out 
his  fob. 

"They  are  somewhat  tight  and  pinching,"  re- 
marked Douglas  as  he  and  his  friend  donned  their 
new  disguise,  "even  though  we  are  now  as  lean  as 
rats  after  our  Scotch  campaign." 

Yet,  tight  as  their  new  clothes  were,  they  an- 
swered, at  least,  a  good  purpose.  It  would  have 


94  DENOUNCED. 

taken  a  shrewd  eye  to  recognise  in  these  two  respect- 
ably clad  men — in  spite  of  their  coats  being  somewhat 
dusty  from  having  lain  in  the  road  while  on  the  backs 
of  their  late  masters,  the  headsman  and  the  High- 
lander who,  a  few  hours  before,  had  walked  round 
and  round  the  orchestra  pavilion  at  Vauxhall. 

After  this  they  went  forward  briskly  towards  Ken- 
sington-square, attracting  no  attention  from  anyone 
indeed  meeting  few  people,  for  at  this  distance  from 
the  heart  of  the  town  there  was  scarcely  anyone  ever 
stirring  after  midnight,  and  it  was  somewhat  past  that 
time  now.  As  they  neared  Kensington,  it  is  true,  they 
were  passed  by  a  troop  of  the  Queen's  Guards  (a's  the 
2nd  Life  Guards  were  then  called)  returning,  prob- 
ably, from  some  duty  at  St.  James's  Palace,  but  other- 
wise they  encountered  none  whom  they  need  consider 
hostile  to  them. 

In  the  square  there  was,  when  they  reached  it  at 
last,  no  sign  of  life.  The  watchman  in  his  box  slum- 
bered peacefully,  his  dog  at  his  feet,  and  in  the  win- 
dows of  the  houses  scarcely  a  light  was  to  be  seen. 
Nor  was  there  any  appearance  of  activity  in  the  house 
belonging  to  Fordingbridge,  though  Bertie  thought  he 
should  have  at  least  seen  some  light  in  the  room  which 
he  knew,  from  enquiry  of  Sholto,  to  be  Kate's. 

"  Tis  strange,"  he  said,  "  strange.  Surely  they 
must  have  returned  from  the  masquerade  by  now. 
After  crossing  the  water  a  coach  would  have  brought 
them  here  in  less  than  an  hour.  'Tis  passing  strange  !  " 

"  They  may  have  got  back  so  early,"  hazarded 
Douglas,  "that  already  all  are  a-bed.  Or  they  may 
have  gone  on  to  Lady  Belrose's,  in  Hanover-square. 
A  hundred  things  may  have  happened.  And  where,  I 
wonder,  is  Archie  ?  He  surely  will  be  in  bed." 


DENOUNCED. 


95 


"  Can  he  be  arrested  ?     It  may  be  so." 

"  God  forbid !  Yet  this  darkness  and  silence  seem 
to  me  ominous.  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Heaven  knows.  Hist !  Who  comes  here  ?  "  and 
as  he  spoke,  from  out  of  one  of  the  doorways  over 
which  was,  as  may  still  be  seen,  a  huge  scallop-shell, 
there  stepped  forth  a  man.  Enveloped  in  one  of  the 
long  cloaks,  or  roquelaures,  still  worn  at  the  period, 
and  with  the  tip  of  a  sword's  scabbard  sticking  out 
beneath  it,  the  man  sauntered  leisurely  away  from 
where  they  were  standing,  yet  as  he  went  they  could 
hear  him  humming  to  himself  an  air  they  both  knew 
well.  It  was  that  old  tune  "  The  Restoration  " — which 
they  had  heard  once  before  this  evening ! — to  which 
the  Highland  army  marched  after  it  had  crossed  the 
border. 

Presently  the  man  turned  and  came  towards  them 
slowly,  then  as  he  passed  by  he  looked  straight  in 
their  faces,  and,  seeming  satisfied  by  what  he  saw,  he 
muttered,  "  A  fine  spring  night,  gentlemen.  Ay,  and 
so  it  is.  A  fine  night  for  the  young  lambs  outside  the 
town  and  for  the  hawks  within — though  the  hawks  get 
not  always  their  beaks  into  the  lambs  too  easily ;  in 
fact,  I  may  give  myself  classical  license  and  say  they 
are  non  semper  triumphans." 

"In  very  truth,"  replied  Bertie,  "  some— though 
'tis  not  always  the  hawks — are  nunquam  triumphant. 
That  is,  if.  I  apprehend  your  meaning." 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  the  man,  dropping  his  classics  and 
changing  his  manner  instantly.  "  You  apprehend  me 
very  well.  Sir,  I  am  here  with  a  message  for  you 
from  a  certain  Scotch  trader,  one  Mr.  Archibald ;  also 
from  a  certain  fair  lady " 

"Ah!" 


96 


DENOUNCED. 


"  Or  rather,  let  me  say,  without  beating  about  the 
bush,  I  brought  to  a  certain  fair  lady,  to-night,  a  mes- 
sage from  Mr.  Archibald,  while  she,  considering  it 
possible  that  a  certain,  or  two  certain  brave  gentle- 
men might  appear  in  this  square  to-night,  did  beg  me 
to  remain  in  this  sad  square  to  deliver  the  message." 

"  Sir,"  said  Elphinston,  teased  by  the  man's  quaint 
phraseology,  yet  anxious  to  know  what  the  message 
really  was  that  had  been  sent  from  Father  Sholto  to 
Kate,  and  on  from  her  to  him,  "  sir,  we  thank  you  very 
much.  Will  you  now  please  to  deliver  to  us  that  mes- 
sage ? " 

"Sir,  I  will.  It  is  for  that  I  am  here."  Then 
without  more  ado  he  said  hastily,  "  The  worthy  trader 
has  been  warned  from  a  friend,  a  countryman  of  ours, 
who  is  connected,  or  attached,  so  to  speak,  to  the 
Scotch  Secretary  of  State's  Orifice,  that  he  may  very 
possibly  be  cast  into  durance  should  he  remain  there," 
and  he  jerked  his  thumb  at  Lord  Fordingbridge's 
house  as  he  spoke;  "whereon,  seeing  that  precaution 
is  the  better  part  of  valour,  the  worthy  trader  has  re- 
moved himself  from  the  hospitable  roof  there,"  upon 
which  he  this  time  jerked  his  head  instead  of  his 
thumb  towards  the  house,  "and  has  sought  another 
shelter  which,  so  to  speak  as  it  were,  is  not  in  this  part 
of  the  town,  but  more  removed.  But,  being  a  man  of 
foresight  and  precaution,  also  hath  he  gone  to  warn 
two  gallant  gentlemen  residing  at  a  sweet  and  se- 
cluded village  on  the  river  to  be  careful  to  themselves 
remove " 

"That,"  said  Douglas,  "we  have  already  done. 
Yet  his  warning  must  have  got  there  too  late." 

"And,"  continued  their  garrulous  and  perspica- 
cious friend,  "also  did  he  request  and  desire  me  to 


DENOUNCED.  ^ 

attend  here  in-  the  square  until  a  certain  fair  lady 
should  return  from  the  gallimanteries  and  ridottos  al 
fresco  to  which  she  had  that  evening  been." 

"And  did  the  certain  fair  lady  return?"  asked 
Elphinston,  unable  to  repress  a  smile  at  his  stilted 
verbiage. 

"  Return  she  did.  In  gay  company  !  Two  sparks 
with  her,  dressed  in  the  best,  though  somewhat  di- 
shevelled as  though  with  profane  dancings  and  junket- 
tings — one  had  his  coat  ripped  from  lapel  to  skirt — 
and  an  elderly  man — I  fear  me  also  a  wassailer  ! — with 
a  fierce  eye.  Then  I  up  and  delivered  the  worthy — 
hem ! — trader's  message,  when,  lo !  as  flame  to  torch- 
wood,  there  burst  forth  from  all  a  tremendous  clam- 
jamfry  such  as  might  have  been  heard  up  there,"  and 
this  time  he  jerked  his  head  towards  where  Kensing- 
ton Palace  lay. 

"  As  how  ?  "  asked  the  young  men  together.  "  Why 
should  they  make  a  clamjamfry  ? " 

"Hech!"  answered  their  eccentric  countryman, 
"  'tis  very  plain  ye  ken  not  women — nor,  for  that  mat- 
ter, the  young  sparks  of  London  !  This  is  how  it  went. 
One  certain  fair  lady — from  whom  I  bring  you  a  wee 
bit  message — wrung  her  hands  and  wept,  saying,  '  Be- 
trayed, betrayed  again  !  The  veellain  !  the  veellain  ! ' 
whereby  I  think  she  meant  not  you  ;  the  other  fair 
lady,  who  is  maybe  an  hour  or  so  older,  stormed  and 
scolded  and  screeched  about  unutterable  scoundrels, 
yet  bade  the  other  cease  weeping  and  seek  her  house, 
to  which  she  was  very  welcome ;  while  the  two  young 
men  uttered  words  more  befitting  their  braw  though 
unholy  dishevelled  apparel,  and  spake  of  him,"  and 
here  the  nodding  head  was  wagged  over  to  Fording- 
bridge's  house  again,  "as  though  he  were  Lucifer  in- 


98 


DENOUNCED. 


carnate — though  that  was  not  the  name,  so  to  speak 
as  it  were.  And  for  the  old  man  with  the  fierce  eye, 
hech !  mon,  his  language  was  unbefitting  a  Christian." 

"  And  the  message  the  lady  scrawled.  What  is 
it?" 

"  Tis  here,"  the  other  replied.  "  You  must  just 
excuse  the  hasty  writing —  "  but  ere  he  could  finish 
his  remark  Bertie  had  taken  a  piece  of  paper  from  his 
hand  which  he  brought  out  from  under  his  cloak,  and, 
striding  to  where  an  oil  lamp  glimmered  over  a  door- 
way, read  what  it  contained.  The  few  lines  ran  as 
follows : 

"We  are  once  more  betrayed.  He  has,  I  know, 
done  this.  I  leave  his  house  and  him  for  ever  from 
to-night.  I  pray  God  you  may  yet  escape.  If  you 
ever  loved  me,  fly — fly  at  once.  Lose  no  moment. — 
KATHERINE." 


CHAPTER   X. 

HOW    MY    LORD    RETURNED    HOME. 

IT  was  on  a  bright  afternoon,  a  week  after  the 
events  which  have  been  described,  that  Lord  Fording- 
bridge's  travelling  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  his 
house,  and  my  lord  descended  in  an  extremely  bad 
humour.  There  was,  perhaps,  more  than  one  reason 
why  he  was  not  in  the  most  amiable  of  tempers,  the 
principal  one  being  that  the  news  which  he  had  hoped 
to  receive  ere  he  again  made  his  entrance  into  London 
had  not  come  to  hand. 

All  the  time  that  he  had  been  on  his  Cheshire 
property — which  he  had  found  to  be  considerably  neg- 
lected since  his  father's  departure  for  France — he  had 
been  expecting  to  receive,  from  one  source  or  an- 
other, the  information  of  the  arrest  of  those  three  ene- 
mies of  his,  about  whom  he  had  given  information  suf- 
ficient to  bring  them  to  justice.  Yet  none  had  come. 
Daily  he  had  sent  to  the  coach  office  at  Chester  for 
the  journals  from  London,  but,  when  he  had  perused 
them,  he  still  failed  to  find  that  any  of  the  three  had 
been  haled  to  justice.  Nor  was  there  even  a  descrip- 
tion in  any  of  them  of  the  scene  at  Vauxhall— which, 
had  he  found  such  description,  might  have  been  ex- 
ceedingly pleasant  reading.  But,  in  truth,  nothing 
was  more  unlikely  than  that  he  should  find  it.  A  fracas 
at  either  Ranelagh  or  the  Spring  Gardens  was  by  no 

QQ 


100  DENOUNCED. 

means  likely  to  be  chronicled  in  either  the  "  London 
Journal"  or  the  "Craftsman,"  or  any  other  news- 
sheet  of  the  period,  since  in  those  days  the  ubiquitous 
reporter  was  unknown,  or,  when  he  existed,  did  not 
consider  anything  beneath  a  murder,  a  state  trial,  or 
an  execution  worthy  of  his  pen.  Also  the  proprietors 
of  Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall,  and  similar  places  of  enter- 
tainment, took  very  good  care  to  keep  anything  un- 
pleasant that  happened  out  of  the  papers.  Nothing 
short,  therefore,  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Tyers  sending  an 
account  of  what  had  occurred  in  his  grounds  to  the 
papers  of  the  day  with  the  request  that  it  might  be  in- 
serted— accompanied,  perhaps,  by  a  payment  for  such 
insertion — would  have  led  to  the  publication  of  the 
matter,  and  that  the  worthy  proprietor  of  the  Spring 
Gardens  would  do  such  a  thing  as  this  was  not  to  be 
supposed. 

Also,  my  lord  had  received  no  news  from  his  wife, 
nor  her  father,  which  astonished  him  considerably. 
For  he  had  supposed  that,  in  about  a  week's  time,  the 
post  would  bring  him  a  letter  full  of  accusations,  re- 
proaches, and  injurious  epithets  from  her  ladyship, 
who,  he  felt  sure,  would  at  once  connect  him  with  the 
arrest  of  the  three  men— yet,  no  more  from  her  than 
from  the  public  prints  did  he  gather  one  word.  So 
that  at  last  he  began  to  have  the  worst  fears  that, 
after  all,  the  Government  had  bungled  in  some  way 
and  that  the  victims  had  escaped.  It  was,  therefore, 
in  a  very  ill  humour  that  he  again  returned  to  Lon- 
don, cursing  inwardly  and  vehemently  at  any  delay 
necessitated  by  the  changing  of  horses,  by  nights  spent 
at  inns  on  the  road,  and  by  the  heavy  roads  them- 
selves; and  at  St.  Albans,  where  he  once  more  slept, 
by  receiving  no  visit  at  all  from  Captain  Morris,  to 


HOW   MY   LORD   RETURNED   HOME.  IOi 

whom  he  had  written  saying  that  he  would  be  there  on 
a  certain  evening  and  would  be  pleased  to  see  him. 

Instead,  however,  he  received  a  visit  from  another 
person  who  had  troubled  his  mind  a  great  deal  during 
the  past  week  or  so  ;  a  somewhat  rough,  uncouth-look- 
ing fellow,  who  seemed  to  have  dogged  his  footsteps 
perpetually — who  had  passed  him  soon  after  he  left 
Uunstable  on  his  journey  down,  whom  he  saw  again  at 
Coventry  and  at  Stafford,  and  who,  to  his  amazement, 
now  strode  into  the  apartment  he  occupied  as  hitherto, 
and  stated  that  he  brought  a  message  from  the  Captain. 

"  Hand  it  to  me,  then,"  said  his  lordship,  regarding 
the  man  as  he  stood  before  him  in  his  rough  riding 
cloak  and  great  boots,  and  recognising  him  as  the  fel< 
low  who  had  appeared  so  often  on  his  journey. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  hand,"  the  other  replied. 
"  Only  a  word-of-mouth  message." 

"  A  word-of-mouth  message  !  Indeed  !  Captain 
Morris  spares  me  but  scant  courtesy.  Well,  what  is 
the  message  ? " 

"  Only  this.  The  work  has  failed,  and  the  birds 
have  escaped  from  the  net.  That's  all." 

"  Escaped  from  the  net !  "  his  lordship  said,  sinking 
back  into  the  deep  chair  he  sat  in,  and  staring  at  the 
uncouth  messenger.  "  Escaped  from  the  net !  But 
the  particulars,  man,  the  particulars!  How  has  it 
come  about  ?  Are  the  Government  and  their  under- 
lings a  pack  of  fools  and  idiots  that  they  let  malig- 
nant traitors  escape  thus  ? " 

"  Very  like,  for  all  I  know,  or,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  care.  The  captain's  one  of  their  underlings,  as 
you  call  them,  and  I'm  another.  Perhaps  we're  fools 
and  idiots." 

"You    are   another,  are   you?"   said  his  lordship, 


102  DENOUNCED. 

looking  at  him,  "  another,  eh  ?  Pray,  sir,  is  that  why 
you  have  dogged  me  into  Cheshire  and  back  again  as 
you  have  done,  for  I  have  seen  you  often  ?  Am  I  a 
suspected  person  that  I  am  followed  about  thus  ?  Am 
I,  sir?" 

"Very  like,"  again  replied  this  stolid  individual. 
"  Very  like,  though  I  know  not.  I  received  my  orders 
at  Dunstable  to  keep  you  in  sight,  and  I  kept  you, 
that's " 

"  Leave  the  room.  Go  out  of  my  sight  at  once  !  " 
exclaimed  Lord  Fordingbridge,  springing  from  his  seat 
and  advancing  toward  the  man.  "Go  at  once,  or  the 
ostler  shall  be  sent  for  to  throw  you  out.  Go  !  " 

When  the  man  had  departed,  muttering  that  "  fool, 
or  idiot,  or  both,  he'd  done  his  duty,  and  he  didn't 
care  for  any  nobleman  in  England,  Jacobite  or  Hano- 
verian, so  long  as  he  done  that,"  the  viscount  gave 
himself  up  to  the  indulgence  of  one  of  those  fits,  or 
rather  tempests,  of  passion,  which,  as  a  rule,  he  rarely 
allowed  himself  to  indulge  in,  and  cursed  and  swore 
heartily  as  he  stamped  up  and  down  the  room  for  half 
an  hour. 

"  Everything  goes  wrong  with  me,"  he  muttered,  as 
he  shook  his  fist  in  impotent  rage  at  his  own  reflection 
in  the  great  mirrors  over  the  fireplace,  "  everything, 
everything !  If  that  infernal  captain  had  only  gone  to 
work  as  he  should  have  done  on  the  information  I 
gave  him,  they  would  all  have  been  lodged  in  gaol  by 
now — two  of  them  doomed  to  a  certain  death  and  the 
other  to  a  long  imprisonment  or  banishment  to  the 
colonies.  And  now  they  are  fled — are  free — safe, 
while  I  am  far  from  safe  since  Elphinston  is  at  large; 
and  am  suspected,  too,  it  seems,  since,  forsooth,  that 
chuckle-headed  boor  is  set  to  follow  me." 


HOW   MY   LORD   RETURNED    HOME.  IO3 

This  latter  thought  was,  perhaps,  as  unpleasant  a 
one  as  any  which  rose  to  his  mind,  since  if  he  were 
also  suspected  it  might  be  the  case  that,  while  he  had 
denounced  the  others,  they — or  probably  Archibald 
Sholto  alone — might  have  denounced  him.  And  at 
this  terrible  thought  he  quaked  with  fear,  for  he 
knew  what  an  array  of  charges  might  be  brought. 
Nay,  it  was  the  very  fear  of  those  charges  being 
brought,  combined  with  his  other  fear  of  Elphinston 
wreaking  vengeance  on  him  for  having  deceived  and 
stolen  his  promised  wife,  that  had  led  to  his  betraying 
the  three  men  who  alone  could  denounce  him.  And 
now  they  were  all  free,  instead  of  being  in  Newgate  or 
the  Tower,  and  he,  it  seemed,  was  as  much  suspected 
as  they  ! 

He  tossed  about  his  bed  all  night,  made  a  wretched 
breakfast,  and  then  set  out  for  London,  determined  at 
all  hazards  to  discover  exactly  what  had  happened,  or 
perhaps  to  find  out  that  nothing  had  happened.  Yet 
as  he  went  he  mused  on  what  his  future  course  should 
be,  and  came  to  at  least  one  determination. 

"I  will  send  her  ladyship  packing,"  he  said,  with  a 
sardonic  grin.  "  I  have  had  enough  of  her  and  her 
airs  and  graces,  and  she  may  go  to  Elphinston  or  to 
the  devil  for  aught  I  care.  I  have  a  surprise  to  spring 
upon  her,  a  trump  card,  or,  as  the  late  Louis  was  said 
to  call  that  card,  '  La  dernttre  piece  d'or,'  because  it 
always  won.  And,  by  Heaven,  I'll  spring  it  without 
mercy  !  " 

In  which  frame  of  mind  his  lordship  arrived  in 
front  of  his  town  house.  But  now  a  new  matter  of 
astonisrfthent  arose,  also  a  new  fuel  for  his  humours; 
for  the  house  appeared  deserted,  the  blinds  were 
drawn  down  in  all  the  windows.  He  could  perceive 


I04  DENOUNCED. 

no  smoke  arising  from  any  chimney,  there  was  no  sign 
of  life  at  all  about  the  place.  He  bade  his  manservant 
get  down  from  beside  the  coachman  and  tug  lustily  at 
the  bell,  while  all  the  time  that  the  man  was  doing  so 
he  was  fretting  and  fuming  inwardly,  and  at  last  was 
meditating  sending  for  the  watch  and  having  the  door 
forced,  when  it  was  opened  from  the  inside,  and  the 
oldest  servant  in  his  establishment,  a  decrepit,  deaf 
old  man,  who  had  acted  as  caretaker  for  many  years 
during  his  and  his  father's  absence  abroad,  appeared. 

"Come  here,  Luke,  come  here,"  his  lordship  called 
loudly  to  him;  "come  here,  I  say,"  and  he  motioned 
that  he  should  descend  the  steps  and  approach  the 
travelling  carriage,  from  the  door  of  which  he  was  now 
glaring  at  him.  But,  whether  from  fright  or  senility, 
or  both  combined,  the  other  did  not  obey  him,  and 
only  stood  shivering  and  shaking  and  feebly  bowing 
upon  the  threshold. 

"  What  devil's  game  is  this  ?"  Fordingbridge  mut- 
tered to  himself  as  he  now  sprang  out  and  ran  up  the 
steps,  after  which  he  grasped  the  old  man  by  the  collar 
and,  dragging  him  toward  him,  bawled  in  his  ear  ques- 
tion after  question  as  to  what  cause  the  present  state 
of  the  house  was  owing.  But  the  old  fellow  only  shiv- 
ered and  shook  the  more,  and  seemed  too  paralyzed 
by  his  master's  violence  to  do  anything  but  wag  his 
jaws  helplessly.  Hurling  him  away,  therefore,  with 
no  consideration  at  all  for  either  his  age  or  feebleness, 
Fordingbridge  rushed  through  the  hall  ringing  a  bell 
that  communicated  with  the  kitchens  and  another  with 
the  garrets,  calling  out  the  names  of  male  and  female 
servants,  and  receiving  no  answer  to  any  of  ftis  sum- 
mons. Then,  tired  of  this  at  last,  he  bade  his  man- 
servant bring  in  his  valises  and  ordered  the  travelling 


HOW  MY   LORD   RETURNED   HOME. 


105 


carriage  off  to  the  stables.  But  by  now  the  old  servitor 
seemed  to  have  recovered  either  his  breath  or  his  senses 
somewhat,  and  coming  up  to  his  lordship  in  a  sidling 
fashion,  such  as  a  dog  assumes  when  fearful  of  a  blow 
if  it  approaches  its  master  too  near,  he  mumbled  that 
there  was  no  one  else  in  the  house  but  himself. 

"  So  I  should  suppose,"  Lord  Fordingbridge  re- 
plied, endeavouring  to  calm  himself  and  to  overcome 
the  gust  of  passion  with  which  he  had  once  more  been 
seized,  "  so  I  should  suppose;  I^have  called  enough  to 
have  waked  the  dead  had  there  been  any  here."  Then 
once  more  regarding  the  old  man  with  one  of  his  fierce 
glances,  he  shouted  at  him  in  a  voice  that  penetrated 
even  to  his  ears,  "  Where  are  they  all  ?  Where  is  her 
ladyship  ?  "  in  a  lower  voice.  "  Where  are  the  serv- 
ants ?" 

"  Gone,  all  gone,"  Luke  replied,  "all  gone.  None 
left  but  me." 

"  Where  are  they  gone  to  ?  " 

The  old  man  flapped  his  hands  up  and  down  once 
or  twice — perhaps  he  performed  the  action  with  a  de- 
sire to  deprecate  his  master's  anger — and  looked  up 
beseechingly  into  his  face  as  though  asking  pardon 
for  what  was  no  fault  of  his,  then  replied  : 

"  Her  ladyship  has  gone  away— for  good  and  all,  I 
hear,  my  lord." 

"  Ha  !     Where  is  she  gone  to  ?  "  . 

"  To  Lady  Belrose's.  I  am  told.  She— she— they— 
the  servants  say  she  will  never  come  back." 

The  viscount  paused  a  moment— this  news  had 
startled  even  him  !— then  he  muttered,  "  No,  I'll  war- 
rant she  never  shall.  This  justifies  me."  And  again 
he  continued,  still  shouting  at  the  old  man,  so  that  his 
valet  upstairs  must  have  heard  every  word  he  uttered  : 


I06  DENOUNCED. 

"  And  the  servants,  where  are  they  ? " 

"  All  gone  too.  They  were  frightened  by  the  po- 
lice and  the  soldiers — " 

"  The  soldiers  !     What  soldiers  ?  " 

"  They  ransacked  the  house  to  find  Mr.  Archibald. 
But  he,  too,  was  gone.  That  terrified  all  but  me — me 
it  did  not  frighten.  No,  no,"  he  went  on,  assuming  a 
ludicrous  appearance  of  bravery  that  was  almost  weird 
to  behold,  "me  it  did  not  frighten.  I  remember  when, 
also,  the  soldiers  searched  the  house  for  your  father, 
his  late  lordship  with — he  !  he  ! — the  same  re " 

"  Silence !  "  roared  Fordingbridge.  "  How  dare  you 
couple  my  father's  name  with  that  fellow  ?  So  Mr. 
Archibald  is  also  gone  !  But  what  about  the  soldiers  ? 
The  soldiers,  I  say,"  raising  his  voice  again  to  a  shriek. 

"  Ah,  the  soldiers,"  Luke  repeated.  "  Yes,  yes.  The 
soldiers.  Brave  soldiers.  I  had  a  son  once  in  their 
regiment,  long  ago,  when  Dunmore  commanded  them  ; 

he  was  wounded  at — um — um "  and  he  stopped, 

terrified  by  the  scowl  on  Lord  Fordingbridge's  face. 

"What,"  bawled  the  latter,  "did  they  do  here — in 
this  house  ?  Curse  your  son  and  your  recollections, 
too.  What  did  they  do  here — in  my  house  ? " 

"  They  sought  for  Mr.  Archibald — her  ladyship  be- 
ing gone  forth.  But  he,  too,  was  out — ho  !  ho— and— 
and  he  never  came  back.  Then  the  captain — a  brave, 
young  lord,  they  say — said  you  were  known  to  be  fos- 
tering a  rebel — they  called  him  a  rebel  Jesuit  priest! — 
that  you  were  denounced  from  Dunstable,  and  that 
you  must  make  your  own  account  with  the  Govern- 
ment. Then  the  maids  fled,  and  next  the  men — they 
said  they  owed  you  no  service.  Ah !  there  are  no  old 
faithful  servants  now — or  few — very  few." 

"  Go  !  "  said  Fordingbridge,  briefly — and  again  his 


HOW   MY  LORD  RETURNED   HOME.  Ioy 

look  terrified  the  poor  old  creature  so,  that  he  slunk 
off  shivering  and  shaking  as  before. 

Slowly  the  viscount  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  sa- 
loon, or  withdrawing  room,  and  when  there  he  cast 
himself  into  a  chair  and  brooded  on  what  he  had 
heard. 

"  Harbouring  a  rebel — a  rebel  Jesuit  priest,"  he 
muttered.  "  So !  so  !  am  I  caught  in  the  toils  that  I 
myself  set  ?  Pardieu,  'twould  seem  so.  I  denounce  a 
rebel,  and,  unfortunately,  that  rebel-  lives  on  me — is 
housed  with  me.  I  never  thought  of  that !  It  may 
tell  badly  for  me;  worse,  too,  because  I  brought  him 
to  England  in  my  train.  How  shall  I  escape  it  ? " 
And  he  sat  long  in  his  chair  meditating. 

"  The  captain  said,"  he  went  on,  "  that  I  must  make 
my  own  account  with  the  Government.  Ah,  yes,  yes; 
why !  so  indeed  I  must.  And  'tis  not  hard.  Make 
my  account !  Why,  yes,  to  be  sure.  Easy  enough. 
I,  having  embraced  the  principles  of  Hanover,  and 
being  now  firm  in  my  loyalty  to  George,  do,  the  better 
to  confound  his  enemies,  shelter  in  my  house  one  whom 
I  intend  to  yield  up  to  him.  Well !  there's  no  harm  in 
that,  but  rather  loyalty.  Otherwise,"  and  he  laughed 
to  himself  as  he  spoke,  "  I  might  lay  myself  open  to 
the  reproach  of  being  a  bad  host ;  of  not  respecting 
the  sacredness  of  the  guest." 

Eased  in  his  mind  by  this  reflection  and  by  the  ex- 
cuse which  he  had  found,  as  he  considered,  for  appeas- 
ing the  Government  and  satisfying  it  as  to  his  reasons 
for  sheltering  a  Jesuit  plotter,  he  rose  from  his  seat 
and  wandered  into  the  other  rooms  of  his  house,  view- 
ing with  particular  interest  and  complaisance  the  one 
which  had  been  her  ladyship's  boudoir,  or  morning- 
room. 

8 


I0g  DENOUNCED. 

"  A  pretty  nest  for  so  fair  a  bird,"  he  muttered,  as 
he  regarded  the  Mortlake  hangings  and  lace  curtains, 
the  deep  roomy  lounge,  the  bright  silver  tea  service, 
and — as  blots  upon  the  other  things — bunches  of  now 
withered  flowers  in  the  vases.  "  A  pretty  nest.  Yet, 
forsooth,  the  silly  thing  must  fall  out  of  it ;  wander 
forth  to  freedom  and  misery.  For  they  say,  who 
study  such  frivolities,  that  caged  birds,  once  released, 
pine  and  die  even  in  their  freedom.  Soit !  'tis  bet- 
ter that  the  bird  should  escape  and  die  of  its  own  ac- 
cord than  be  thrust  into  the  cold  open  by  its  master's 
hand.  And  that  would  have  happened  to  your  lady- 
ship," and  he  laughed  as  he  spoke  of  her,  "had  you  not 
taken  the  initiative.  My  Lady  Fordingbridge,"  utter- 
ing the  words  with  emphasis,  nay,  with  unction,  "  I 
had  done  with  you.  It  was  time  for  you  to  go." 

A  little  clock  on  the  mantelpiece,  a  masterpiece  of 
Tompion's,  chimed  forth  the  hour  musically  as  he 
spoke;  he  remembered  his  father  buying  it  as  a  pres- 
ent for  his  mother  the  year  before  they  fled  to  France  ; 
and  turning  round  to  look  at  it  he  saw,  standing  against 
its  face,  where  it  could  not  fail  to  be  observed,  a  letter 
addressed  to  him.  Opening  it,  he  found  written  the 
words,  "  I  have  left  the  house  and  you.  I  know  every- 
thing now."  That  was  all;  there  was  no  form  of  ad- 
dress, no  superscription.  Nothing  could  be  more  dis- 
dainful, nor,  by  its  brevity,  more  convincing.  And, 
whatever  the  schemes  the  man  might  have  been  ma- 
turing in  his  evil  mind  against  the  writer,  yet  that 
brief,  contemptuous  note  stung  him  more  than  a  long- 
er, more  explanatory  one  could  have  done. 

"So  be  it,"  he  said  again,  "so  be  it."  Then  he 
bade  his  man  come  and  dress  him  anew,  and  after- 
wards call  a  hackney  coach.  And  on  entering  the 


HOW   MY   LORD   RETURNED   HOME.  IO9 

latter  when  ready,  he  ordered  the  driver  to  convey 
him  first  to  the  Duke  of  Newcastle's  (the  Secretary  of 
State),  and  later  to  Lady  Belrose's  in  Hanover-square. 
"  For,  to  commence,"  he  muttered,  as  he  drove  off, 
"  I  must  square  his  grace,  and  then  have  one  final 
interview  with  my  dearly  beloved  Katherine.  New- 
castle has  the  reputation  of  being  the  biggest  fool  in 
England — he  should  not  be  difficult  to  deal  with ; 
while  as  to  her — well,  she  is  no  fool  but  yet  she  shall 
find  her  master." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ARCHIBALD'S  ESCAPE. 

.  FORTUNE  had,  indeed,  stood  the  friend  of  those 
three  denounced  men,  otherwise  they  must  by  now 
have  been  lying — as  Fordingbridge  had  said — in  one 
of  the  many  prisons  of  London  awaiting  their  trial ; 
trials  which — in  the  case  of  two  at  least — would  have 
preceded  by  a  short  time  only  their  executions  and 
deaths ;  deaths  made  doubly  horrible  by  that  which 
accompanied  them,  by  the  cutting  out  and  casting 
into  the  fire  of  the  still  beating  hearts  of  the 
victims,  the  disembowelling  and  quartering  and 
mangling. 

Yet,  if  such  was  ever  to  be  their  fate — and  they 
tempted  such  fate  terribly  by  their  continued  presence 
in  London,  or,  indeed,  in  England — it  had  not  yet 
overtaken  them ;  until  now  they  were  free.  How 
Douglas  Sholto  and  Bertie  Elphinston  had  escaped 
the  snare  you  have  seen ;  how  Archibald  Sholto 
eluded  those  who  sought  him  has  now  to  be  told. 

Kate  had  no  sooner  departed  in  a  chariot,  sent  for 
her  by  Lady  Belrose,  to  take  a  dish  of  tea  in  company 
with  the  other  members  of  the  proposed  party  before 
going  on  to  Vauxhall,  than  Mr.  Archibald,  who  had  a 
large  room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  was  apprised  by 
the  servant  that  a  Scotch  gentleman  awaited  him  in 


ARCHIBALD'S  ESCAPE.  nj 

the  garden.*  On  desiring  to  be  informed  what  the 
gentleman's  name  and  errand  were — for  those  engaged 
as  the  Jesuit  now  was  omitted  no  precautions  for  their 
safety — a  message  was  brought  back  that  the  visitor 
was  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Archibald's,  whom  he  would 
recognise  on  descending  to  the  garden,  and  that  his 
business  was  very  pressing.  Now  Archibald  was  a 
man  of  great  forethought — necessity  had  made  him 
such — and  therefore,  ere  he  descended  to  the  garden, 
he  thought  it  well  to  take  an  observation  of  this 
mysterious  caller,  who  might  be,  as  he  said,  a  friend 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  a  representative  of  the  law  en- 
deavouring to  take  advantage  of  him. 

The  opportunity  for  this  observation  presented  it- 
self, however,  without  any  difficulty.  On  the  back- 
stairs of  each  flight  in  the  houses  of  Kensington-square 
there  existed  precisely  what  exists  in  the  present  day 
in  most  houses,  namely,  windows  half-way  up  each 
flight,  and,  gazing  out  into  the  garden — up  and  down 
the  gravel  walks  of  which  the  visitor  was  walking, 
sometimes  stopping  to  inspect  or  to  smell  some  of  the 
roses  already  in  bloom,  and  sometimes  casting  glances 
of  impatience  at  the  house — Archibald  saw  the  man 
who,  later  on,  was  to  deliver  Kate's  message  to  Bertie. 

"  Why  !  "  he  exclaimed  to  himself,  "  as  I  live  'tis 
James  McGlowrie.  Honest  Jemmy  !  Indeed,  he  can 
come  on  no  evil  intent  to  me  or  to  those  dear  to  me. 
Yet— yet— I  fear.  Even  though  he  means  no  harm 
he  may  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news,"  and  so  saying  he 
passed  down  the  stairs  and  to  the  man  awaiting  him. 

*  At  this  period  most  of  the  houses  in  Kensington-square  had 
large  gardens  at  the  back.     Those  on  the  west  side,  where  I 
Fordingbridge's  is  supposed  to   be  situated,  covered  what 
known  as  Scarsdale-place. 


II2  DENOUNCED. 

"  James,"  he  said,  addressing  the  other  in  their 
native  brogue,  "  this  is  a  sight  for  sair  een.  Yet,"  he 
went  on,  "  what  brings  you  here  ?  First,  how  did  you 
know  I  dwelt  here,  and  next,  what  brings  you  ? — 
though  right  glad  I  am  to  see  you  once  again." 

"  I  have  a  wee  bit  message  for  ye,  Archibald,"  said 
the  other,  shaking  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  "  that  it 
behoves  you  vary  weel  to  hear.  And,"  dropping  at 
once  into  the  verbosity  that  was  to  so  tease,  while  at 
the  same  time  it  amused,  Elphinston  some  hours  later, 
"  not  only  to  hear,  but,  so  to  speak,  as  it  were,  to  pon- 
der on,  yet  also  to  decide  quickly  over  and  thereby  to 
arrive  at  a  good  determination.  D'ye  take,  Archi- 
bald Sh ,  I  mean,  so  to  speak,  Mr.  Archibald  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  the  other,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  I  cannot  in  truth  say  that  I  do.  James  McGlowrie, 
you  can  speak  to  the  point  when  you  choose.  Choose 
to  do  so  now,  I  beg  you." 

"  To  the  point  is  very  well.  And  so  I  will  speak. 
Now,  Archie,  old  friend,  listen.  Ye  ken  and  weel 
remember,  I  doubt  not,  Geordie  McNab,  erstwhile  of 
Edinburgh." 

"  Indeed  I  do." 

"  So — so.  Vary  weel.  Now  Geordie  McNab  is 
come  south  and  has  gotten  himself  into  the  Scotch 
Secretary  of  State's  office,  for  Geordie  is  no  Jacobite  ! 
—and  there  he  draws  ^"200  a  year  sterling  —  not 
Scotch.  Oh,  no.  Geordie  is  now  vary  weel  to  do, 
and  what  with  the  little  estate  his  poor  auld  mother 
left  him,  which,  so  to  speak,  yields  him  thirty  bolls 
and  firlots  of  barley,  some  peats  at  twopence  per 
load,  and  many  pecks  of  mustard  seed  at  a  shilling, 


and- 


"  Jemmy,  Jemmy,"  said  the  other,  reproachfully, 


ARCHIBALD'S   ESCAPE.  II3 

"  was  this  the  important  errand  you  came  here 
upon  ?  " 

"  Nay,  nay.  My  tongue  runs  away  with  me  as 
ever.  Yet,  listen  still.  Geordie  is  no  Jacobite,  yet, 
i'faith,  there's  a  many  he's  overweel  disposed  to, 
among  others  an  old  schoolfellow  o'  his,  one  Archi- 
bald." 

"  One  Archibald  !  Ha  !  I  take  you.  And,  Jemmy, 
is  he  threatened  ;  has  he  aught  to  fear  from  the  Scotch 
Secretary's  office  ? " 

"  The  warst  that  can  befall.  Ay,  man,  the  very 
warst.  So  are  also  two  friends  of  his,  late  of — hem — 
a  certain  army  that  has  of  late  made  excursions  and 
alarums,  as  the  bard  hath  it." 

"  So !  I  understand  !  We  have  been  informed 
against,  blown  upon.  Alas  !  alas  !  We  were  free  but 
for  this — our  names  not  even  upon  the  list." 

"  Yet  now,"  said  McGlowrie,  "  are  they  there. 
Likewise  also  your  addresses  and  habitments — all  are 
vary  weel  known.  My  laddie,  ye  must  flee  out  o'  the 
land  and  awa'  back  to  France,  and  go  ye  must  at 
once.  There's  no  time  to  be  lost." 

"  I  cannot  go  without  warning  the  others — without 
knowing  they  are  safe."  Then,  while  a  terribly  stern 
look  came  into  his  face,  he  said,  "  WTho  has  done  this 
thing,  McGlowrie,  who  has  done  it  ?  " 

"  Can  ye  not  vary  weel  guess  ?  'Tis  not  far  to 
seek." 

"Ay,"  the  Jesuit  answered,  "  it  needs  no  question. 
Oh !  Simeon  Larpent,  Simeon  Larpent,  if  ever  I  have 
you  to  my  hand  again,  beware.  Oh !  to  have  you  but 
for  one  hour  in  Paris  and  with  the  Holy  Church  to 
avenge  me,  a  priest,  against  you  ! "  Then  changing 
this  tone  to  another  more  suitable,  perhaps,  to  the 


H4  DENOUNCED. 

occasion  and  the  danger  in  which  he  stood,  he 
asked  : 

"  What  do  they  mean  to  do  ?  When  will  they  pro- 
ceed to  the  work,  think  you  ? " 

"At  once;  to-night,  perhaps;  to-morrow  for  cer- 
tain. Go,  Archie,  go,  pack  up  your  duds  and  flee,  I 
say.  Even  now  the  Government  may  have  put  the 
officers  upon  your  hiding-place;  have  told  the  soldiers 
at  Kensington  to  surround  the  house.  Lose  no 
time." 

"  But  the  boys — the  boys  at  Wandsworth.  What 
of  them  ?" 

"  They  shall  be  warned,  even  though  I  do  it  myself. 
But  now,  Archie,  up  to  your  room,  bring  with  you — in 
a  small  compass,  so  to  speak — your  necessaries,  and 
come  with  me." 

"  But  where  to  ?    Where  to  ?  " 

"  Hech !  with  me.  I  have  a  bit  lodgment,  as  you 
will  know  vary  weel  soon,  in  the  Minories;  'tis  near 
there  poor  Lady  Balmerino  lodges — though  they  prom- 
ise her  that  after  her  lord  is  condemned,  as  he  must 
be — as  he  must  be  ! — she  shall  be  lodged  with  him  in 
the  Tower  to  the  last ;  come  with  me,  I  say.  For  the 
love  o'  God,  Archie,  hesitate  no  longer." 

Then  indeed,  Archibald  Sholto  knew  that,  if  he 
would  save  himself  and  help  the  others,  and — as  he 
hoped — wreak  his  vengeance  on  the  treacherous  adder 
that  had  stung  them,  he  must  follow  honest  James 
McGlowrie's  counsel.  So,  very  swiftly  he  passed  up  to 
his  room,  collected  every  paper  he  possessed,  and  car- 
ried away  with  him  a  small  valise,  in  which  were  a 
change  of  clothes,  several  bank  bills  and  a  bag  of 
guineas,  Louis  d'ors,  and  gold  crowns.  Then  he  re- 
turned to  the  garden  where  McGlowrie  was  still  walk- 


ARCHIBALD'S  ESCAPE,  H^ 

ing  up  and  down  as  before,  and  announced  that  he  was 
ready  to  follow  him. 

"  Only,"  he  said,  "  we  will  go  as  quietly  as  may  be, 
and  without  a  word.  I  will  not  even  tell  the  servants 
I  am  going,  Heaven  knows  if  they  are  not  spies  them- 
selves. I  will  just  vanish  away,  and,  as  I  hope,  leave 
no  trace.  Come,  Jemmy,  there  is  a  door  behind  the 
herb-garden  that  gives  into  the  lane,  and  the  lane 
itself  leads  to  the  West-road.  If  we  can  cross  that  in 
safety  we  can  pass  by  Lord  Holland's — he  is  Secretary 
of  War  now,  and  of  the  Privy  Council — yet  that  mat- 
ters not  to  us ;  behind  his  leafy  woods  we  shall  come 
to  the  other  road.  Then  for  a  hackney  or  a  passing 
coach  to  the  city.  Only,  the  boys,  Jemmy,  the  boys! 
What  of  them  ? " 

"  Have  no  fear.  If  they  are  not  warned  already 
by  Geordie  McNab  'twill  surprise  me  very  much,  and 
once  I  have  seen  ye  off  to  the  Minories  I'll  be  away 
to  Wandsworth  myself.  Thereby  I'll  make  sure. 
Come,  Archie,  come.  The  evening  draws  in.  Come, 
mon." 

"I  will.  Only,  Jemmy,  stick  your  honest  nose  out- 
side the  garden  gate  and  see  that  neither  soldiers, 
spies,  nor  men  of  the  law  are  there.  If  it  is  as  you 
say,  the  house  may  even  now  be  surrounded." 

McGlowrie  did  as  the  other  requested,  going  out 
and  sauntering  up  and  down  the  lane,  but  seeing  no 
signs  of  anyone  about  who  might  threaten  danger.  To 
a  maid-servant,  drawing  water  from  a  well  which 
served  for  many  of  the  gardens  of  the  houses,  he  gave 
in  his  pleasant  Scotch  way  the  "  good  e'en,"  and  re- 
marked that  "the  flowers  were  thirsty  these  warm 
May  nights,  and  required,  so  to  speak  as  it  were,  a 
draught  to  refresh  'em  "  ;  and  to  a  boy  birdnesting  up  a 


U6  DENOUNCED. 

tree  he  observed  that  it  was  a  cruel  sport  which  would 
wring  a  poor  mither's  heart,  even  as  his  own  mither's 
would  full  surely  be  wrung  should  he  be  torn  away 
from  her  grasp,  even  as  he  was  tearing  the  young 
from  the  nest.  But,  all  the  time  he  was  delivering 
these  apothegms,  his  eye  was  glancing  up  and  down 
the  lane,  and  searching  for  any  sign  of  danger.  And, 
seeing  none,  he  went  back  to  Archibald  Sholto  and  bade 
him  follow  since  all  was  clear. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  as  they  passed  to  the  left  of 
Holland  House  and  so  reached  Kensington  Gravel 
Pits,  "  let  us  form  our  plans.  First,  there  are  the  two 
young  men,  who  must  of  a  surety  have  been  warned  by 
Geordie,  yet,  supposing  he  should  have  failed,  must 
yet  be  warned,  so  to  speak.  Now,  shall  I  get  me 
away " 

"  Alas !  "  said  Sholto,  "  I  have  just  recalled  to  mind 
that,  if  they  are  not  already  on  their  guard,  'tis  now 
too  late.  They  were  to  go  to  the  masquerade  at  Vaux- 
hall ;  are  there  by  now.  'Tis  certain.  One  of  them 
had  an  appointment  with — with  the  wife  of  the  double- 
dyed  scoundrel  who  owns  the  house  we  have  but  just 
now  quitted." 

"  Hoot !  Ma  conscience  !  With  his  enemy's  wife. 
Vary  good  !  Vary  good  !  Perhaps  'tis  not  so  strange 
the  man  is  his  enemy.  Weel,  weel,  'tis  no  affair  of 
mine,  yet  I  like  not  this  trafficking  wi'  other  men's 
goods.  But  since  they  are  away  on  this  quest  they 
need  no  warning.  Now  for  yourself,  Archie.  Get  you 
away  to  the  Minories — here  is  the  precise  address," 
and  he  slipped  a  piece  of  paper  into  his  hand,  "go 
there,  lie  perdu,  and  await  my  return." 

"  But  Kate !  Lady  Fordingbridge  !  I  must  let  her 
know  of  my  absence ;  what  will  she  think  when  she  re- 


ARCHIBALD'S   ESCAPE.  nn 

turns  home  and  finds  me  gone  ?  And  the  others — 
they  may  be  taken  when  they  also  return  to  their 
homes." 

"  Leave't  to  me.  I  will  await  my  lady's  return 
from  these  worldly  doings — ma  word !  a  married 
woman  and  meeting  other  men  in  such  sinfu'  places ! 
— even  though  she  comes  not  till  the  break  o*  day — as 
is  very  likely,  I  fear,  under  the  circumstances  !  And, 
meanwhile,  for  the  others  we  must  trust  to  Geordie." 

"  No,"  said  Archibald  Sholto,  "  we  will  not  trust  to 
Geordie,  true  as  I  believe  him  to  be.  This  is  the  best 
plan.  If  you  will  wait — as  I  know  you  will — until  her 
ladyship  returns,  though  it  will  not  be  for  some  hours 
yet,  I  apprehend,  I  will  make  my  way  to  Wandsworth, 
find  out  if  they  are  warned,  and,  if  not,  will  myself 
wait  their  return.  Then  I  will  accept  your  shelter  in 
the  Minories  for  a  time  until  we  can  all  three  get  safe 
back  to  France.  For  France  is  now  our  only  refuge 
again,  as  it  has  so  often  and  so  long  been  before." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  McGlowrie,  "  perhaps  so  'tis  best. 
None  know  you  at  Wandsworth?" 

"  None.  No  living  soul  except  the  woman  of  the 
house — a  true  one.  Her  father  fell  in  the  Cause  in  the 
'  15  '  at  Sherriffmuir.  She  is  safe." 

"  So  be  it.  Then  away  with  you  to  yon  village,  and 
trust  me  to  manage  things  in  this  one.  Now,  off 
wi'  you,  Archie,  but  first  make  some  change  in  your 
clothing." 

"  But  how  ?     I  have  no  other  clothes  but  those  I 

wear." 

"Hoot!  a  small  changement  is  easy,  and  some- 
times, so  to  speak  as  it  were,  effectual.  Off  with  that 
hat  and  wig."  And  as  he  spoke  he  took  off  each  of 
his. 


Ug  DENOUNCED. 

"  You  will  lose  by  the  exchange,  Jemmy,"  said 
Archibald.  "  Mine  is  but  a  rusty  bob  and  a  poor  hat; 
both  yours  are  very  good." 

"  No  matter.  To-morrow  at  the  lodgment  we  will 
change  again." 

Therefore,  with  his  appearance  considerably  al- 
tered, Archibald  Sholto  prepared  now  to  set  out  for 
Wandsworth.  But  ere  he  did  so  he  said  one  word  to 
honest  James  McGlowrie. 

"Jemmy,"  he  remarked,  "make  no  mistake  about 
Ka — Lady  Fordingbridge  and  this  meeting  with  Bertie 
Elphinston  to  which  she  has  gone.  She  is  as  good 
and  pure  a  woman  as  ever  lived  and  suffered.  I  have 
known  her  from  a  child,  gave  her  her  first  communion ; 
there  is  no  speck  of  ill  in  her." 

"  Lived  and  suffered,  eh  ? "  repeated  the  other. 

"  Ay,  lived  and  suffered !  The  man  she  has  gone 
to  meet  was  to  have  been  her  husband ;  they  loved 
each  other  with  all  their  hearts  and  souls;  and  by  foul 
treachery  she  was  stolen  from  him  by  that  most  un- 
paralleled scoundrel,  Fordingbridge.  Remember  that, 
Jemmy,  when  you  see  her  to-night ;  remember  she  is 
as  pure  a  woman  as  your  mother  was,  and  respect  her 
for  all  that  she  has  endured." 

"Have  no  fear,"  said  Jemmy,  manfully,  "have  no 
fear.  Although  ye  are  a  Papist,  Archie,  and  a  priest 
at  that,  I'll  e'en  take  your  word  for  it." 

So,  with  a  light  laugh  from  the  Jesuit  at  the  rigid 
and  plain-spoken  Presbyterianism  of  his  old  school- 
fellow and  whilom  fag,  they  parted  with  a  grasp  of  the 
hand,  each  to  what  he  had  to  do.  That  James  Mc- 
Glowrie carried  out  his  portion  of  the  undertaking 
has  been  already  told,  as  well  as  how,  after  the  in- 
formation he  gave  Lady  Fordingbridge,  she  decided 


ARCHIBALD'S  ESCAPE. 

to  accept  Lady  Belrose's  offer  of  her  house  as  a  refuge, 
if  only  temporarily ;  and  how  he  afterwards  became  a 
messenger  from  her  to  Bertie  Elphinston. 

As  for  Archibald  Sholto,  he,  too,  did  that  which  he 
had  said  would  be  best.  He  made  his  way  from  Ken- 
sington to  Chelsea  and  so  to  Wandsworth,  only  to  find 
when  he  had  arrived  there  that  his  brother  and  friend 
had  long  since — for  it  was  by  then  nine  o'clock — de- 
parted for  Vauxhall.  Therefore  he  said  a  few  words 
to  the  landlady — herself  an  adherent  of  the  Stuarts,  as 
she,  whose  father  had  fallen  at  Sherriffmuir,  was  cer- 
tain to  be — telling  her  that  it  was  doubtful  if  they 
would  ever  return  to  their  lodgings,  but  that,  if  they 
did,  she  must  manage  to  send  them  off  at  once.  He 
told  her,  too,  the  address  of  the  Minories  where  he 
could  be  communicated  with,  under  cover  to  Mc- 
Glowrie,  and,  since  he  it  was  who  had  sent  them  as 
lodgers  to  her  house,  he  gave  her  some  money  on 
their  account.  Then  he  left  her  and,  thorough  and 
indomitable  in  all  he  did,  made  his  way  to  the  Spring 
Gardens. 

"  If  they  are  there,"  he  thought,  as  he  waited  out- 
side the  inn  in  Wandsworth — an  old  one,  known  then, 
as  now,  as  the  Spread  Eagle,  while  the  horse  was  be- 
ing put  into  the  shafts  of  the  hackney  coach  he  had 
hired,  "  I  may  see  them  in  time  to  warn  them.  Dressed 
as  the  executioner,  the  woman  said  of  Bertie  and 
Douglas,  without  any  disguise,  though  in  a  garb  that 
will  be  supposed  to  be  one  in  that  place ;  there  should 
be  no  difficulty  in  finding  them  if  they  are  still  there. 
Thank  God,  they  were  not  caught  in  their  lodgings." 

He  did  not  know,  nor  could  the  landlady  have  told 
him— not  knowing  herself— of  how  they  had  been 
watched  and  followed  from  the  village  to  Vauxhall ; 


I20  DENOUNCED. 

so  he  passed  his  time  on  the  lonely  drive  through  the 
Battersea  marshes  in  meditating  how  this  last  act  of 
treachery  of  Lord  Fordingbridge  was  to  be  repaid. 
For  that  it  should  be  so  repaid,  and  with  interest, 
Archibald  Sholto  had  already  determined.  "  Though 
not  for  his  baseness  to  me  so  much,"  he  muttered, 
"as  to  those  whom  I  love.  For  since  to  me,  a  priest, 
there  can  be  no  home,  no  wife,  no  children,  I  have 
centred  all  my  heart  upon  those  three — my  brother, 
our  friend  Bertie,  and  poor,  bonnie  Kate.  And  those 
it  is  against  whom  he  has  struck.  May  God  forget 
me  if  I  strike  not  equally,  ay  !  and  with  more  certainty 
than  he  has  done,  when  my  hour  comes." 

A  good  friend  was  Archibald  Sholto,  Jesuit  though 
he  was,  but  a  terrible  foe.  As  you  shall  see. 

On  his  way  to  the  garden  he  passed  half  a  dozen 
young  men  of  fashion  who,  from  their  talk  and  ac- 
tions, he  knew  to  be  about  to  assist  at  a  duel,  and, 
forgetting  that  he  was  in  secular  garb,  he  could  not 
forbear  from  addressing  them  in  his  priestly  character 
and  begging  them  to  desist  from  the  sin  they  contem- 
plated. But  they  bade  him  pass  on  and  not  interfere 
in  what  concerned  him  not,  while  one,  striking  at  the 
horse  with  his  clouded  cane,  caused  the  animal  to  dash 
off  upon  the  uneven  road  or  track.  These,  doubtless, 
were  the  men  for  whom  the  boatmen  who  ferried 
Bertie  and  Douglas  across  later  on  were  waiting. 

So  he  reached  the  gardens,  but  only  to  find  that 
most  of  the  company  was  already  gone,  and  that,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  revellers  who  would  keep  the 
night  up  so  long  as  it  were  possible,  none  of  the  mas- 
queraders  remained.  Yet,  even  from  these  he  gath- 
ered enough  to  set  his  mind  fairly  at  rest ;  for,  hap- 
pening to  hear  one  of  them  speak  of  the  "  merry 


ARCHIBALD'S   ESCAPE.  I2I 

disturbance "  which  had  taken  place  that  night,  and 
also  boast  somewhat  loudly  of  how  he  had  assisted 
the  Jacobites  in  resisting  the  limbs  of  the  law,  he,  by 
great  suavity  and  apparent  admiration  of  the  speak- 
er's prowess,  managed  to  extract  from  him  a  more  or 
less  accurate  account  of  what  had  taken  place. 

Thus  he  learned  that,  in  some  way,  his  brother  and 
friend  had  made  their  escape — aided,  of  course,  by  the 
pot-valiant  hero  to  whom  he  was  listening — and  also 
that  the  "  ladies  of  fashion  "  and  the  gentlemen  by 
whom  they  were  accompanied  had  also  departed  with- 
out molestation.  "  Though,"  continued  the  narrator, 
as  he  swallowed  the  last  drop  of  brandy  in  his  glass 
and  then  looked  ruefully  at  the  empty  vessel,  "I 
know  not  if  they  would  have  been  allowed  to  go  so 
freely  had  not  I  and  my  friend  assisted  in  protecting 
them." 

After  that  Archibald  withdrew,  and,  on  foot,  made 
his  way  to  the  City,  while  as  he  crossed  London 
Bridge  nearly  two  hours  later — for  he  was  weary  with 
all  that  had  happened  that  day — the  sun  came  up  and 
lighted  with  a  rosy  hue  the  Tower  lying  on  his  right 
hand. 

"  Ay,"  he  muttered.  "  Ay,  many's  the  poor  aching 
heart  within  your  walls  this  morning  besides  the 
doomed  Balmerino,  Cromartie,  and  Kilmarnock — for 
nought  can  save  them ;  thank  God  that  some  at  least 
are  free  at  present.  But  how  long  will  they  be  so  ? 
How  long  ?  How  long?" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HEY!    FOR    FRANCE. 

DURING  the  time  which  elapsed  between  the  event- 
ful proceedings  of  that  day  and  the  time  when  my 
Lord  Fordingbridge — agitated  by  receiving  no  news 
in  Cheshire  from  his  wife — returned  to  London,  all 
those  whom  this  history  has  principally  to  deal  with 
met  together  with  considerable  frequency. 

For,  whether  the  clue  was  lost  to  the  whereabouts 
of  Elphinston  and  the  Sholtos,  or  whether  the  Govern- 
ment was  growing  sick  of  the  wholesale  butchery  of 
Jacobites  which  was  going  on  in  Scotland  and  Eng- 
land— though  it  would  scarce  seem  so,  since  two  of  the 
lords  in  the  Tower  and  some  score  of  other  victims 
were  yet  to  be  executed  and  their  remains  to  be  bru- 
tally used — at  least  those  three  friends  were  still  at 
large.  Archibald  Sholto  was  in  hiding  at  James  Mc- 
Glowrie's  lodgings  in  the  Minories,  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  which  that  honest  gentleman  was  much  en- 
gaged in  the  grain  and  cattle  trade  between  London 
and  Scotland  and  also  Holland  and  France.  Farther 
east  still  was  Bertie  Elphinston,  he  being  close  to  the 
spot  where  the  unhappy  Lady  Balmerino,  his  kins- 
woman, was  lodged ;  while  in  the  West  End,  or  rather 
the  west  of  London,  at  the  Kensington  Gravel  Pits, 
and  under  the  roof  of  no  less  a  person  than  Sir  Charles 
Ames,  Douglas  had  found  a  home  and  hiding  place. 

122 


HEY!    FOR   FRANCE.  I23 

As  for  Kate  and  her  father,  they  were  in  Hanover- 
square,  the  guests  of  Lady  Belrose,  and  were  to  remain 
as  such  until  the  former  had  had  an  interview  with 
Fordingbridge.  "  For,"  said  Kate  to  her  friend  who, 
although  a  comparatively  new  one,  was  proving  her- 
self to  be  very  staunch,  "  then  I  shall  know,  then  I 
shall  be  able  to  decide  ;  though  even  now  my  deci- 
sion is  taken,  my  mind  made  up.  Who  can  doubt  that 
it  is  he  who  has  done  this  ?  He  and  no  other.  No 
other !  " 

"  Indeed,  dear,"  replied  her  hostess,  as  she  bade 
her  black  boy — a  present  from  her  devoted  admirer, 
Sir  Charles — go  get  the  urn  filled,  for  they  were 
drinking  tea  after  dinner,  "indeed,  dear,  no  one,  I 
think,  from  all  that  you  have  told  me.  Yet  if  you 
leave  him,  what  is  to  become  of  you  and  Mr.  Fane  ? 
You  have,  you  say — pardon  me  for  even  referring  to 
such  a  thing — no  very  good  means  of  subsistence.  I," 
went  on  her  ladyship,  speaking  emphatically,  "should 
at  least  take  my  settlement.  I  would  not,  positively  I 
would  not,  allow  the  wretch  to  benefit  by  keeping  that. 
No,  indeed  !  " 

"  If,"  replied  Kate,  "  'tis  as  I  fear— nay,  as  I  know 
it  is,  I  will  not  touch  one  farthing  of  his.  Not  one 
farthing.  I  will  go  forth,  and  he  Shall  be  as  though  I 
had  never  seen  or  spoken  to  him." 

"But,"  asked  the  more  practical  woman  of  the 
world,  "what  will  you  do,  dear?  You  cannot  live  on 
air,  and— which  is  almost  worse— you  cannot  marry 
someone  who  will  give  you  a  good  home.  And  you 
so  pretty,  too  !  "  she  added. 

"  Marry  again  ! "  exclaimed  Kate,  her  eyes  glistening 
as  she  spoke.  "  Heaven  forbid!  Have  I  not  had  enough 
of  marriage  ?  One  experience  should  suffice,  I  think." 


124 


DENOUNCED. 


"  It  has  indeed  been  a  sad  one,"  answered  Lady 
Belrose,  who  had  herself  no  intention  of  continuing 
her  widowhood  much  longer,  and  was  indeed  at  that 
moment  privately  affianced  to  Sir  Charles  Ames. 
"  But,  Kate,  if  your  monster  were  dead  you  might  be 
happy  yet." 

"  No,  no,"  the  other  replied,  "  never.  And  he  is 
not  dead,  nor  like  to  die.  I  am,  indeed,  far  more  likely 
to  die  than  he — since  the  doctors  all  say  I  am  far 
from  strong,  though  I  do  not  perceive  it." 

"But  what  will  you  do  ?"  again  asked  the  practical 
hostess.  "  How  live  ?  Mr.  Fane  has,  you  say,  no 
longer  sufficient  youth  or  activity  to  earn  a  living  for 
you  at  the  fence  school — can  you,  dear,  earn  enough 
for  both  ? " 

"I  think  so,"  Kate  replied,  "by  returning  to  Paris. 
That  we  must  do — there  is  nothing  to  be  earned  here. 
But,  in  Paris,  Archibald  Sholto  has  much  influence  in 
the  court  circles ;  he  knows  even  the  King  and — and — 
the  new  favourite,  La  Pompadour,  who  has  deposed 
Madame  de  Chateauroux.  Also  he  is  a  friend  of  Car- 
dinal Tencin,  who  owes  much  to  the  exiled  Stuarts. 
It  is,  he  thinks,  certain  that  some  place  either  at  the 
court,  or  in  the  prince's  household — if  he  has  escaped 
from  Scotland,  which  God  grant ! — or  in  the  Chevalier 
St.  George's,  at  Rome,  might  be  found  for  me — a  place 
which  would  enable  me  to  keep  my  old  father  from 
want  for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"  Kate,  you  are  a  brave  woman,  and  a  good  one, 
too,  for  from  what  you  have  told  me  your  father  him- 
self has  behaved  none  too  well  to  you,  and " 

"I  must  forget  that,"  the  other  replied,  "and  re- 
member only  how  for  years  he  struggled  hard  to  keep 
a  home  for  us,  to  bring  me  UD  as  a  lady.  I  must  put 


HEY  !    FOR   FRANCE. 


125 


away  every  thought  of  his  one  wrong  to  me  and  re- 
member only  all  that  he  has  done  for  my  good." 

Meanwhile  Kate's  determination  to  part  from  her 
husband — if,  as  no  one  doubted,  he  it  was  who  had  en- 
deavoured to  betray  the  others  to  the  Government — was 
well  known  to  her  three  friends  ;  and  therefore,  with 
them  as  with  her  and  her  father,  preparations  were 
being  hurried  on  by  which  they  also  might  return  to 
France.  For  them  there  was,  as  there  had  been  be- 
fore the  invasion  of  Scotland  and  England,  the  means 
whereby  to  exist ;  Douglas  and  Bertie  had  not  sacri- 
ficed their  commissions  in  the  French  regiments  to 
which  they  belonged,  and  Archibald  was  employed  by 
the  Stuart  cause  as  an  agent,  was  also  a  member  of  the 
College  of  St.  Omer,  and  was  a  priest  of  St.  Eustache. 
That  Bertie  Elphinston  would  ever  have  left  London 
while  his  kinsman  and  the  head  of  his  house,  Arthur, 
Lord  Balmerino,  lay  in  the  Tower  awaiting  his  trial  and 
certain  death  was  not  to  be  supposed,  had  not  a  mes- 
sage come  from  that  unhappy  nobleman  ordering  him 
to  go.  Also,  he  bade  him  waste  no  time  in  remaining 
where  he  was  hourly  in  danger  and  could,  at  the  same 
time,  be  of  no  earthly  good. 

"He  bids  me  tell  you,  Bertie,"  said  Lady  Balme- 
rino, in  a  meeting  which  she  contrived  to  have  with  the 
young  man  on  one  of  those  evenings  when  both  were 
lodged  in  the  Eastend,  and  while  she  wept  piteously 
as  she  spoke,  "  he  bids  me  tell  you  that  it  is  his  last 
commandment  to  you,  as  still  the  head  of  your  house 
and  the  name  you  bear,  to  flee  from  England.  The 
rank  and  title  of  Balmerino  must  die  with  him,  but 
he  lays  upon  you  the  task  of  bearing  and,  he  hopes, 
perpetuating  the  name  of  Elphinston  honourably. 
Also  he  sends  vou  his  blessing  as  from  a  dying  old 


I26  DENOUNCED. 

man  to  a  young  one,  bids  you  trust  in  God  and  also 
serve  the  House  of  Stuart  while  there  is  any  member 
of  it  left.  And  if  more  be  needed  to  make  you  fly, 
he  orders  you  to  do  it  for  your  mother's  sake." 

After  that  Elphinston  knew  where  his  duty  lay — 
knew  that  he  must  return  to  France.  It  was  hard,  he 
swore,  to  leave  England  and  also,  thereby,  to  leave 
the  scoundrel  Fordingbridge  behind  and  alive,  still 
he  felt  that  it  must  be  so.  Fordingbridge  merited 
death — yet  he  must  escape  it ! 

But  he  had  one  consolation,  too.  Ere  long  Kate 
would  be  back  in  Paris — it  was  not  possible  that  her 
husband  could  be  innocent — therefore  he  would  some- 
times see  her.  A  poor  consolation,  indeed,  he  told 
himself,  to  simply  be  able  to  see  the  woman  who  was 
to  have  been  his  wife  yet  was  now  another  man's — no 
power  on  earth,  no  determination  on  her  part  to  sever 
her  existence  from  Fordingbridge  could  alter  that! — 
yet  it  was  something.  Consequently,  he  with  the 
others  set  about  the  plans  for  their  departure. 

Now,  to  so  arrange  and  manage  for  this  departure, 
they  looked  to  James  McGlowrie,  who  had  both  the 
will  and  the  power  to  help  them. 

An  old  acquaintance  of  his  in  Scotland,  when  both 
were  boys  who  had  not  then  gone  forth  into  the  world, 
McGlowrie  had  kept  up  an  occasional  correspond- 
ence with  Archibald  Sholto  until  the  present  time, 
and  thereby  had  been  able  to  afford  him  assistance 
and  had  proved  himself  invaluable  when  Fording- 
bridge informed  against  them.  Indeed,  had  McGlowrie 
not  known  where  Archibald  Sholto  was  living  when  in 
London,  Geordie  McNab's  information  derived  from 
the  Scotch  Secretary's  Office  could  never  have  been 
utilized,  and  Archibald  Sholto  must  at  least  have 


HEY!   FOR   FRANCE.  I2j 

been  taken.  And  now  he  was  to  be  even  more  prac- 
tically useful  than  before— it  was  in  his  cattle-trading 
boats  that  all  were,  one  by  one,  to  be  conveyed  to  the 
continent.  "  Though,"  said  Jemmy,  as  he  arranged 
plans  with  them  one  night  in  a  little  inn  at  Limehouse 
where  they  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting,  and  where 
there  was  little  danger  of  their  being  discovered,  "  I 
can  give  none  of  ye  any  certain  guarantee,  so  to  speak 
as  it  were,  of  ye  getting  over  in  safety.  Infernal 
sloops  o*  war  and  bomb-ketches,  and  the  devil  knows 
what  else,  are  prowling  about  the  waters  looking  for 
rebels,  and  as  like  as  not  may  light  upon  the  one  or 
other  of  you." 

"  We  must  risk  that,"  said  Bertie.  "  Great  heavens! 
what  have  we  not  risked  far  worse  ?  " 

"Vary  weel,"  replied  McGlowrie;  "then  let  one  of 
you  begin  the  risk  to-morrow  night.  And  you  it  had 
best  be,  Mr.  Elphinston.  My  little  barky  drops  down 
the  river  then,  and  once  you're  round  the  North  Fore- 
land you  will  be  safe,  or  nearly  so,  to  reach  Calais. 
Be  ready  by  seven  to-morrow  night." 

"Why  do  you  select  me  to  go  first,  Mr.  McGlowrie? 
I  have  quite  as  many,  if  not  more,  interests  in  England 
than  either  Douglas  or  Archie." 

"  Um  !  "  muttered  honest  Jemmy,  who  did  not  care 
to  say  that  he  thought  a  man  who  was  philandering 
about  after  a  married  woman  was  best  got  out  of  the 
way  as  soon  as  possible,  though  such  was,  indeed,  his 
opinion,  he  being  a  strict  moralist.  "  Um  !  I  thought 
the  noble  lord  had  laid  his  commands  on  ye  to  be  off  and 
awa'  at  anst.  The  head  of  the  family  must  be  obeyed." 

"Also,"  said  Archibald  Sholto,  "you  have  your 
mother  to  think  of.  We  have  no  mother.  Bertie, 
you  had  best  go  to-morrow  night." 


I28  DENOUNCED. 

"And  you  have  seen  Kate,"  whispered  gentle 
Douglas  Sholto,  who  took,  perhaps,  a  more  romantic 
view  of  things — for  he  had  known  of  their  love  from 
the  first  and,  from  almost  envying  them  at  its  com- 
mencement, had  now  come  to  pity  them,  "  have  made 
y.our  farewells.  If  you  get  safe  to  France  you  must 
of  a  surety  meet  again — for  Fordingbridge  is  a  villain, 
and  she  will  keep  her  word  and  part  from  him — is  it 
not  best  you  go  at  once  ?  " 

"  You  and  I  have  always  gone  together,  Douglas, 
hand  in  hand  in  all  things,"  his  friend  replied ;  "  I  like 
not  parting  from  you  now." 

"Still  let  it  be  so,  I  beg  you.  Remember,  once  we 
are  back  in  Paris  all  will  be  as  happy  as  it  has  been 
before,  or  nearly  so,  and  there  will  be  no  Fording- 
bridge there.  He,  at  least,  will  not  be  by  us  to  set 
the  blood  tingling  in  our  veins  with  the  desire  to  slay 
him." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Bertie,  "  I  will  go." 

This  being  therefore  decided,  McGlowrie  gave  his 
counsel  as  to  what  was  to  be  done.  The  "  little 
barky  "  of  which  he  had  spoken  was  in  the  habit  of 
taking  over  to  Calais  good  black  cattle  in  exchange 
for  French  wines  (what  did  it  matter  if  sometimes  the 
bottles  were  stuffed  full  of  lace  instead  of  Bordeaux  ?), 
silks,  and  ribbons,  and  it  was  as  a  drover  he  proposed 
Elphinston  should  go.  The  duties  would  be  nothing, 
and  the  assumption  of  them  would  be  a  sufficient  ex- 
planation of  his  being  on  board. 

"And  then,"  said  he,  "when  once  you  set  your 
foot  on  Calais  sands  you  can  again  become  Captain 
Elphinston  of  the  regiment  of  Picardy,  and  defy  King 
Geo — hoot !  what  treason  am  I  talking  ?  " 

It  was  the  truth  that  he  had  seen  Kate  again  since 


HEY!    FOR   FRANCE.  I2g 

the  night  of  the  conflict  at  Vauxhall,  and  then,  stung 
to  madness  by  the  renewed  villainy  and  treachery  of 
her  husband,  he  had  pleaded  to  her  to  let  him  seek  out 
Fordingbridge  and  slay  him  with  his  own  hands.  But, 
bitterly  as  she  despised  and  hated  the  man  who  had 
brought  them  such  grief  and  sorrow,  she  refused  to 
even  listen  to  so  much  as  a  suggestion  of  his  doing 
this. 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  she  exclaimed,  shuddering  at  the 
very  idea  of  such  a  tragedy.  "  No,  no.  What  benefit 
would  it  be  to  you  or  to  me  to  have  the  stain  of  his 
blood  on  our  hands?" 

"  It  would  remove  for  ever  the  obstacle  between 
us,"  he  said;  "would  set  you  free;  would  place  us 
where  we  were  before." 

"  Never,  never,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  been  his 
wife — though  such  by  fraud  and  trickery — and  if  he 
were  dead,  God  knows  I  could  not  mourn  him;  yet  I 
will  not  be  his  murderess,  his  executioner,  as  I  shall 
be  if  I  let  you  slay  him.  If  he  fell  by  your  hand,  I 
could  never  look  upon-  your  face  again.  Moreover, 
even  were  I  hardened  enough  to  do  so — which  I  am 
not — do  you  not  know  that  the  French  law  permits  no 
man  to  become  the  husband  of  a  woman  whose  first 
husband  he  has  slain?  We  should  be  as  far  apart 
then  as  ever — nay,  farther,  with  his  death  between  us 
always." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  said,  recognising,  however, 
as  he  did  so  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  his  taking 
vengeance  on  Fordingbridge,  since  by  doing  so  he 
would  thus  place  such  a  barrier  between  them.  "  Yet 
there  are  other  lands  where  one  may  live  besides 
France  and  England.  There  is  Sweden,  where  every 
soldier  is  welcome ;  there  is " 


130 


DENOUNCED. 


"  Cease,  I  beseech  you,  cease !  It  can  never  be. 
If  in  God's  good  time  He  sees  fit  to  punish  him,  he 
will  do  so.  If  not,  I  must  bear  the  lot  that  has  fallen 
to  me.  Meanwhile  be  assured  that  once  I  find  he  has 
done  this  act  of  treachery,  I  shall  never  return  to  him." 

"  And  we  shall  meet  in  Paris — that  is,  if  ever  I  can 
get  back  there  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "We  shall  meet  in  Paris; 
for  it  is  there  I  must  go.  There,  at  least,  I  must  find 
a  means  of  existence ;  though,  since  now  we  under- 
stand, since  we  have  forgiven  each  other — is  it  not  so  ? 
— 'twould  perhaps  be  best  that  we  should  not  meet 
again." 

"  No,  no,"  he  protested.  "  No,  no.  For  even 
though  this  snake  has  crept  in  between  us — so  that 
never  more  can  we  be  to  each  other  what — what — my 
God ! — what  we  once  were ;  so  that  there  must  be  no 
love,  no  passing  of  our  days,  our  lives,  together  side 
by  side — yet,  Kate,  we  can  at  least  know  that  the 
other  is  well  if  not  happy ;  we  can  meet  sometimes. 
Can  we  not  ?  answer  me." 

"Oh,  go!"  she  exclaimed,  breaking  down  at  his 
words  and  weeping  piteously,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair 
and  buried  her  head  in  her  hands.  "  Go  !  In  mercy, 
go!  I  cannot  bear  your  words;  they  break  my  heart. 
Leave  me,  I  beseech  you  !  " 

So — because  he,  too,  could  bear  the  interview  no 
longer,  and  could  not  endure  to  see  her  misery — he 
left  her,  taking  her  hand  and  kissing  it  ere  he  de- 
parted, and  whispering  in  her  ear  that  soon  they 
would  meet  again. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MAN    AND    WIFE. 

THE  hackney  coach  drew  up  at  Lady  Belrose's 
house  in  Hanover-square  a  couple  of  hours  after  it  had 
left  Kensington-square,  and  Lord  Fordingbridge,  de- 
scending from  it,  rang  a  loud  peal  upon  the  bell. 

For  some  reason — the  whereof  was  perhaps  not 
known  to  him,  or  could  not  have  been  explained  by 
even  his  peculiarly  constituted  mind — he  had  attired 
himself  for  the  two  interviews  with  great  care.  His 
black  velvet  suit,  trimmed  with  silver  lace — for  he  wore 
mourning  for  the  late  viscount — was  of  the  richest ; 
his  thick  hair  was  now  confined  beneath  a  handsome 
tye-wig,  and  his  ruffles  and  breast  lace  were  the  finest 
in  his  possession.  Yet  he,  knowing  himself  to  be  the 
unutterable  scoundrel  he  was,  could  scarcely  suppose 
that  this  sumptuousness  of  attire  was  likely  to  have 
much  effect  upon  the  woman  who  had  deserted  him  for 
a  cause  which  he  had  not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  im- 
agining. Perhaps,  however,  it  was  assumed  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  with  whom  he  had 
had  a  satisfactory  interview. 

"  Lady  Fordingbridge  is  living  here,"  he  said  qui- 
etly, but  with  a  sternness  he  considered  fitting  to  the 
occasion,  to  the  grave  elderly  man  who  opened  the 
door  to  him— a  man  whose  appearance,  Lady  Bel- 
rose  frequently  observed,  would  have  added  respect- 

131 


132 


DENOUNCED. 


ability  to  the  household  of  a  bishop — "  show  me  to 
her." 

The  footman  looked  inquiringly  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  he  was  not  accustomed  to  such  imperious  orders 
from  any  of  her  ladyship's  visitors,  however  handsome 
an  appearance  they  might  present.  Then  he  said : 

"  Lady  Belrose  lives  here.  Lady  Fordingbridge  is 
her  guest.  And  if  you  wish  to  see  her,  sir,  I  must 
know  whose  name  to  announce." 

"  I  am  her  husband,  Lord  Fordingbridge.  Be  good 
enough  to  announce  that,  and  at  once." 

The  staid  man-servant  gave  him  a  swift  glance — it 
was  not  to  be  doubted  that  many  a  gossip  had  been 
held  below  stairs  as  to  the  reason  why  Lady  Fording- 
bridge had  quitted  and  caused  to  be  shut  up  her  own 
house,  only  to  come  and  dwell  at  his  mistress's — then 
he  invited  his  lordship  to  follow  him  into  the  morning 
room  on  the  right  of  the  door. 

"I  will  tell  her  ladyship,"  he  said,  and  so  left  him. 

When  he  was  alone,  Lord  Fordingbridge,  after  a 
hasty  glance  round  the  room,  and  a  sneer  at  the  por- 
traits of  a  vast  number  of  simpering  young  men  which 
hung  on  the  walls — her  admirers,  he  considered,  no 
doubt — took  a  seat  upon  the  couch  and  pondered  over 
the  coming  interview  with  his  wife. 

"  It  is  time,"  he  thought,  "  that  things  should  draw 
to  a  conclusion.  For,"  he  said,  as  though  addressing 
Kate  herself,  "  I  have  had  enough  of  you,  my  lady. 
You  have  long  ceased  to  be  a  wife  to  me — never  were 
one,  indeed,  but  for  a  month,  and  then  but  a  very  in- 
different spouse,  a  cold-hearted,  cold-blooded  jade; 
now  it  is  time  you  should  cease  to  be  so  much  in  even 
name.  So,  so.  You  shall  be  stripped  of  your  bor- 
rowed plumage;  we  will  see  then  how  you  like  the 


MAN   AND   WIFE. 


133 


position  of  affairs.  I  myself  am  heartily  sick  of 
them." 

He  had  no  premonition  of  what  Kate  might  be 
about  to  say  to  him  when  she  should  enter  the  room  in 
which  he  now  sat;  yet  he  had  a  very  strong  suspicion 
that  her  remarks  would  consist  of  accusations  against 
him  of  having  betrayed  the  Sholtos  and  Elphinston. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said, -"let  her  accuse.  I  have  the 
last  card.  It  is  a  strong  one.  It  should  win  the  trick." 

Yet  at  the  same  time,  strong  as  any  card  might  be 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  would  have  given  a  good 
deal  to  have  known  where  at  the  present  moment  those 
three  men  might  be  harbouring  whom  he  had  endeav- 
oured so  strongly  to  give  to  the  hangman's  hands. 
And  once,  as  a  sudden  thought  came  to  his  mind — a 
thought  that  almost  made  the  perspiration  burst  out 
upon  him — a  thought  that  they  might  all  be  in  this 
very  house  and  appear  suddenly  to  take  vengeance  on 
him  for  his  treachery  ! — he  nearly  rose  from  his  seat 
as  though  to  fly  while  there  was  yet  time.  But,  coward 
though  he  was,  both  physically  and  morally,  he  had 
strength  to  master  his  impulse,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
fears  that  at  any  moment  Elphinston,  whom  he  had 
wronged  the  worst  of  all,  might  enter  the  room,  to  re- 
main seated  where  he  was. 

Still  his  eyes  sought  ever  the  hands  of  the  clock  as 
moment  after  moment  went  by  and  his  wife  failed  to 
come,  until  at  last  he  was  wrought  to  so  high  a  pitch 
of  nervousness  that  he  started  at  any  sound  inside  and 
outside  of  the  house.  A  man  bawling  the  news  in  the 
street  or  blowing  the  horn,  which  at  that  time  the 
newsboys  carried  to  proclaim  their  approach,  set  his 
nerves  and  fibres  tingling ;  the  laughter  of  some  of  the 
domestics  in  the  kitchens  below  him  had  an  equally 


,34  DENOUNCED. 

jarring  effect,  and  when  aloud  knock  came  at  the  street 
door  he  quivered  as  though  the  avenging  Elphinston 
was  indeed  there.  Then,  at  last,  the  door  opened  sud- 
denly, and  his  wife  stood  before  him. 

He  saw  in  one  swift  glance  that  she  was  very  pale 
— she,  whose  complexion  had  once  been  as  the  rose- 
blush — and  this  he  could  understand.  It  was  not 
strange  she  should  be  so.  What  he  could  not  under- 
stand was  the  habit  in  which  she  appeared,  the  manner 
in  which  she  was  attired.  Ever  since  she  had  become 
his  wife  he  had  caused  her  to  be  arrayed  in  the  richest, 
most  costly  dresses  he  could  afford ;  had  desired,  nay, 
had  commanded,  that  in  all  outward  things  she  should 
carry  out  the  character  of  Lady  Fordingbridge;  that 
her  gowns,  her  laces,  her  wigs,  should  all  be  suitable 
to  his  position. 

Yet  now  she  appeared  shorn  of  all  those  adorn- 
ments  which  his  common,  pitiful  mind  regarded  as  part 
and  parcel  of  his  dignity.  The  dress  she  wore  was  a 
simple  black  one,  made  of  a  material  which  the  hum- 
blest lady  in  the  land  might  have  had  on,  without  lace 
or  trimmings  or  any  adornment  whatsoever.  Also  on 
her  head  there  was  no  towering  wig,  nor  powder,  nor 
false  curls;  instead,  her  own  sweet  golden  hair  was 
neatly  brushed  back  into  a  great  knot  behind.  Nor 
on  her  hands,  nor  on  her  neck,  was  any  jewellery,  save 
only  the  one  ring  which,  from  the  day  he  had  put  it 
on  her  finger,  she  had  ever  regarded  as  a  badge  of 
slavery. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  rising  and  advancing  towards 
her,  while  as  he  did  so  she  retreated  back  towards  the 
door,  "  Madam,  I  have  come  here  to  desire  an  explana- 
tion from  you  as  to  why  I  find  you  gone  from  my 
house  and  living  under  the  shelter  of  another  person's 


MAN   AND   WIFE.  ,35 

roof.  And  also,  I  have  to  ask,"  he  continued,  letting 
his  eye  fall  upon  the  plainness  of  her  attire,  "  why  you 
present  yourself  before  me  in  such  a  garb  as  you  now 
wear  ?  I  must  crave  an  immediate  answer,  madam." 

"I  am  here  to  give  it,"  she  replied.  "And  since  I 
do  not  doubt  that  it  is  the  last  time  you  and  I  will  ever 
exchange  words  again  in  the  world,  that  answer  shall 
be  full  and  complete.  But,  first,  do  you  answer  me 
this,  Lord  Fordingbridge.  Was  it  by  your  craft  that 
Mr..  Elphinston  and  Douglas  and  Archibald  Sholto 
were  denounced  ? " 

She  spoke  very  calmly ;  in  her  voice  there  was  no 
tremor;  also  he  could  see  that  her  hands,  in  one  of 
which  she  held  a  small  packet,  did  not  quiver. 

"Madam,"  he  replied,  endeavouring  to  also  assume 
a  similar  calmness,  but  not  succeeding  particularly 
well,  while  at  the  same  time  one  of  those  strong 
waves  of  passion  rose  in  his  breast  which  he  had  hith- 
erto always  mastered  when  engaged  in  discussion  with 
her,  "  madam,  by  what  right  do  you  ask  me  such  a 
question  as  this  ?  What  does  it  concern  you  if  I 
choose  to  denounce  Jacobite  plotters  to  the  Govern- 
ment ?  Nothing  !  And  again  I  ask  why  you  have  left 
my  roof  for  that  of  the  worldling  with  whom  you  have 
taken  refuge,  and  why  you  appear  before  me  in  a 
garb  more  befitting  a  mercer's  apprentice  than  my 
wife  ?" 

"  Your  equivocation  condemns  you.  Simeon  Lar- 
pent,  it  was  you  who  played  the  spy,  you  who  were  the 
denouncer  of  those  three  men.  I  knew  that  there 
could  be  no  doubt  on  that  score." 

"And  again  I  say,  what  if  I  did?  What  then? 
What  does  it  concern  you  ?  What  have  you  to  do 
with  it  ?" 


136 


DENOUNCED. 


"  I  have  this  to  do,"  she  replied ;  "  but  that  which 
is  to  be  done  shall  be  done  before  witnesses,"  and  step- 
ping to  the  bell  rope,  she  pulled  it  strongly,  so  that 
the  peal  rang  through  the  house. 

"Witnesses!"  he  exclaimed.  "Witnesses!  None 
are  required.  Yet,  be  careful ;  I  warn  you  ere  it  is 
too  late.  If  you  summon  witnesses  to  this  interview, 
they  may  chance  to  hear  that  which,  to  prevent  their 
hearing,  you  would  rather  have  died.  Be  careful  what 
you  do,  madam." 

As  he  finished,  the  footman  opened  the  door,  and, 
without  hesitating  one  moment,  she  said  to  the 
man : 

"Ask  the  two  gentlemen  to  step  this  way." 

"  Two  gentlemen  !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  two  gentlemen  ! 
So,  this  is  a  trap !  Who  are  the  two  gentlemen, 
pray  ? "  and  as  he  spoke  he  drew  his  sword.  "  If,  as  I 
suspect,  they  are  the  two  bullies — your  lover,  whom 
you  meet  at  masquerades,  whom  you  give  assignations 
to,  and  his  friend — they  shall  at  least  find  that  I  can 
defend  myself." 

In  truth,  bold  as  he  seemed,  he  was  now  in  great 
fear.  He  expected  nothing  else  but  that,  when  the 
door  again  opened,  Sholto  and  Elphinston  would  ap- 
pear before  him,  and  he  began  to  quake  and  to  think 
his  last  hour  was  come.  His  treachery  was,  he  feared, 
soon  to  be  repaid. 

She  made  no  answer  to  his  vile  taunt  about  her 
lover,  nor  did  she  take  any  heed  of  the  drawn  sword 
that  shook  in  his  hand;  had  she  been  a  statue  she 
could  not  have  stood  more  still  as  she  regarded  him 
with  contempt  and  scorn. 

Then  the  door  did  open,  and  Sir  Charles  Ames  and 
Douglas  Sholto  entered  the  room.  The  first  he  did 


MAN   AND   WIFE.  l,j 

not  know ;  had,  indeed,  never  seen  him  before ;  but  at 
the  sight  of  the  other  he  grasped  his  weapon  mor*e 
firmly,  expecting  that  ere  another  moment  had  passed 
the  hands  of  the  young  Highlander  would  be  at  his 
throat,  and  that  he  would  have  to  defend  his  life 
against  him.  To  his  intense  surprise  Sholto  treated 
him  with  as  much  indifference  as  if  he  too  had  been  a 
statue;  after  one  glance — which,  if  disdain  could  have 
the  power  to  slay,  would  have  withered  him  as  he 
stood — he  took  no  further  heed  of  him.  As  for  Sir 
Charles  Ames,  he,  observing  the  drawn  weapon  in  the 
other's  hand,  smiled  contemptuously,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  then  took  his  place  behind  Lady  Ford- 
ingbridge  and  by  the  side  of  Douglas. 

"  Sir  Charles  and  you,  Douglas,"  she  said,  "  fosgive 
me  for  asking  you  to  be  present  at  this  interview,  yet 
I  do  so  because  I  desire  that  in  after  days  there  shall 
be  one  or  two  men,  at  least,  to  testify  to  that  which  I 
now  do."  Then,  turning  towards  her  husband,  who 
still  stood  where  he  had  risen  on  her  entrance,  she 
said: 

"  Simeon  Larpent,  since  first  I  met  you — to  my 
eternal  unhappiness — your  life  has  been  one  long  lie, 
one  base  deceit.  The  first  proposals  ever  made  to  me 
by  you  were  degrading  to  an  honest  woman,  were  in- 
famy to  listen  to.  Next,  you  obtained  me  for  your 
wife  by  more  lies,  by  more  duplicity,  by  more  deceit. 
Also,  from  the  time  I  have  been  your  wife,  you,  your- 
self a  follower  of  the  unhappy  house  of  Stuart  by 
birth  and  bringing  up,  have  endeavoured  in  every  way 
to  encompass  the  death  of  three  followers  of  the  same 
cause,  because  one  of  those  men  was  to  have  been  my 
husband  had  not  you  foully  wronged  him  to  me;  be- 
cause the  other  two  were  his  and  my  friends." 


138 


DENOUNCED. 


She  paused  a  moment  as  though  to  gather  fresh 
energy  for  her  denunciation  of  him  ;  and  he,  craven  as 
he  was,  stood  there  before  her,  white  to  the  very  lips, 
and  with  his  eyes  wandering  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  two  listeners.  Then  she  continued : 

"  For  all  this,  Simeon  Larpent,  but  especially  for 
that  which  you  have  last  done,  for  this  your  last  piece 
of  cruel,  wicked  treachery,  for  this  your  last  bitter, 
tigerish  endeavour  to  destroy  three  men  who  had 
otherwise  been  safe,  I  renounce  and  deny  you  for 
ever." 

All  started  as  she  uttered  these  words,  but  without 
heeding  them  she  continued  : 

"  For  ever.  I  disavow  you,  I  forswear  you  as  my 
husband.  I  have  long  ceased  to  be  aught  to  you  but 
a  wife  in  name ;  henceforth  I  will  not  be  so  much  as 
that.  I  have  quitted  your  house.  I  quit  now  and 
part  with  for  so  long  as  I  shall  live  your  name,  the 
share  in  the  rank  that  you  smirch  and  befoul.  From 
to-day  I  will  never  willingly  set  eyes  on  you  again, 
never  speak  one  word  to  you,  though  you  lay  dying 
at  my  feet,  never  answer  to  the  name  of  Fording- 
bridge.  I  return  to  what  I  was;  I  become  once  more 
Katherine  Fane." 

He,  standing  before  her,  moistened  his  lips  as 
though  about  to  speak,  but  again  she  went  on,  taking 
now  from  off  her  finger  the  one  ring  that  alone  she 
wore.  Placing  it  on  the  table,  she  continued: 

"  Thus  I  discard  you,  thus  I  sever  to  all  eternity 
the  bond  that  binds  me  to  you ;  a  bond  that  no  priest, 
no  Church,  shall  ever  persuade  or  force  me  into  again 
recognising."  And  with  these  words  she  placed  also 
on  the  table  the  package  she  had  brought  into  the 
room  with  her. 


MAN   AND   WIFE.  j^n 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  is  every  trinket  you  have 
given  me,  except  the  jewellery  of  your  family,  which 
you  have  possession  of.  At  your  own  house  is  every 
dress  and  robe,  every  garment  I  own  that  has  been 
bought  with  your  money.  So  the  severance  is  made. 
Again  I  say  that  I  renounce  you  and  deny  you.  From 
to-day,  Lord  Fordingbridge,  your  existence  ceases  for 
me." 

It  seemed  that  she  had  spoken  her  last  word. 
With  an  inclination  of  her  head  towards  those  two 
witnesses  whom  she  had  summoned  to  hear  her  de- 
nunciation, she  moved  towards  the  door,  while  they, 
after  casting  one  glance  at  him,  the  Denounced,  stand- 
ing there — Sir  Charles  Ames,  conveying  in  his  looks 
all  the  ineffable  disdain  which  a  polished  gentleman  of 
the  world  might  be  supposed  to  feel  towards  another 
who  had  fallen  so  low,  and  Douglas  -regarding  him  as 
a  man  regards  some  savage,  ignoble  beast — prepared 
to  follow  her. 

Then,  at  last,  he  found  his  voice— a  harsh  and  rau- 
cous one,  as  though  emotion,  or  hate,  or  rage  were 
stifling  its  natural  tones — and  exclaimed  ere  they 
could  quit  the  room: 

"Stay.  The  last  word  is  not  yet  said.  You, 
Katherine  Fane,  as  you  elect,  wisely,  to  call  yourself 
henceforth,  and  you,  her  witnesses,  listen  to  what  ] 
have  now  to  say.  This  parley,  this  conference,  call  it 
what  you  will,  may  justly  be  completed." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him— disdainfully,  and 
careless  as  to  what  he  might  have  to  say  in  this  her 
final  interview  with  him— and  they,  doing  as  she  did, 
paused  also. 

Then   he   continued,   still    speaking   hoarsely   ; 

clearly  enough : 
10 


I40  DENOUNCED. 

"  You  have  said,  madam,  that  you  renounce  and 
deny  me  for  ever;  that  you  are  resolved  never  more 
to  share  my  rank  or  title,  nor  again  to  bear  my  name. 
Are  you  so  certain  that  'tis  yours  to  so  refuse  or  so 
renounce  at  your  good  will  and  pleasure  ?" 

"  What,  sir,  do  you  mean  by  such  questions  ? " 
asked  Sir  Charles  Ames,  speaking  now  for  the  first 
time.  But  Lord  Fordingbridge,  heeding  him  not,  con- 
tinued to  address  her,  and  now,  as  he  spoke,  he  raised 
his  hand  and  pointed  his  finger  at  her. 

"  You  have  been  very  scornful,  very  cold  and  dis- 
dainful since  first  we  came  together,  madam,  treating 
me  ever  to  your  most  bitter  dislike,  while  all  the  time 
every  thought  and  idea  of  yours  was  given  to  another 
man — all  the  time,  I  say,  while  you  continued  to  bear 
the  title  of  the  Viscountess  Fordingbridge.  Once 
more,  I  ask,  are  you  so  sure  that  this  title  was  yours 
to  fling  away,  the  husband  yours  to  renounce  and  deny 
in  your  own  good  pleasure  ? " 

And  his  eyes  glared  at  her  now  as  he  spoke,  and 
she  knew  that  the  devil  which  dwelt  in  him  had  got 
possession. 

"  Be  more  explicit,"  she  said,  "or  cease  to  speak  at 
all.  If  I  could  think,  if  I  could  awake  as  from  an  evil 
dream  and  learn  that  I  had  never  been  your  wife, 
never  plighted  troth  with  you,  I  would  upon  my  knees 
thank  God  for  such  a  mercy." 

"Those  thanks  may  be  more  due  than  you  dream 
of.  How  if  I  were  to  tell  you ? " 

"  What  ?  "  fell  from  the  lips  of  all,  while  Douglas 
took  a  step  nearer  to  him,  and  Sir  Charles  felt  sure 
that  in  another  moment  they  would  be  told  of  some 
earlier  marriage.  "  What  ? " 

For   answer   he    went   on,   one    finger    raised    and 


MAN   AND   WIFE.  I4I 

pointing  at  her  as  though  to  emphasize  his  re- 
marks : 

"You  have  taunted  me  often  with  the  Jesuit  edu- 
cation I  received  at  St.  Omer — at  Lisbon.  Well,  it 
was  true :  such  an  education  I  did  receive  at  both 
places.  Only,  madam — my  Lady  Fordingbridge  ! — 
Miss  Fane ! — have  you  never  heard  that  one  so 
educated  may,  at  such  places,  receive  other  things? 
may  become  acolytes,  priests  ?  What  if  /  became 
such  ?  what  would  you  then  be — a  priest ? " 

"  It  is  a  lie !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  and  you  know  it." 

"  Are  you  so  sure  ?  Can  you  prove — or,  rather, 
disprove  it  ?  Answer  me  that — answer,  if  you  are  sure 
that  you  share  my  name  and  rank — have  power  to  re- 
nounce them." 

As  he  finished,  Douglas  sprang  at  him  and,  in  spite 
of  his  drawn  sword,  would  have  choked  the  life  out  of 
him  on  the  spot  had  not  Sir  Charles  interceded,  while 
at  the  same  moment  Kitty's  voice  was  heard  bidding 
him  desist. 

"Even  so,"  she  said,  "true  or  untrue,  it  is  best. 
The  infamy,  if  infamy  there  is,  must  be  borne.  At 
least,  I  am  free.  Free!  Am  justified  after  these 
hints!" 

"Ay,"  Lord  Fordingbridge  said,  "you  may  be  free. 
To  do  what,  however?  To  fling  yourself  into  your 
lover's  arms  to-night—only,  where  will  you  find  him? 
Newgate,  the  Tower,  the  New  Gaol  in  Southwark  are 
full  of  such  as  he;  'tis  there,  Mistress  Fane,  that 
doubtless  you  must  seek  him." 

"  And  'tis  there,"  said  Douglas  Sholto,  an  inspira- 
tion occurring  suddenly  to  his  mind,  "  that  you  shall 
join  him.  The  King  has  issued  orders  for  every  Jesuit 
priest  to  be  arrested  who  shall  be  found,  or  denounced, 


142 


DENOUNCED. 


in  these  dominions,  and,  Jacobite  though  I  am,  with 
my  life  at  stake,  I  will  drag  you  there  with  my  own 
hands  ere  you  shall  be  suffered  to  escape.  You  have 
proclaimed  yourself,  shown  us  the  way ;  by  your  own 
lips  shall  you  be  judged." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

FLIGHT. 

THAT  Douglas  had  spoken  out  of  the  fury  of  his 
heart  and,  consequently,  without  thought,  was,  how- 
ever, very  apparent  at  once ;  for  when  Kate  had 
quitted  the  room,  leaving  Fordingbridge  free  from 
the  grasp  of  the  former — since  Douglas,  a  second 
after  he  had  seized  him,  flung  him  trembling  and 
shivering  on  the  couch — Sir  Charles  Ames  spoke  and 
said,  as  he  drew  Sholto  aside  to  where  the  other  would 
not  hear  them  : 

"  It  would  indeed  serve  the  scoundrel  right  if  he 
were  treated  as  you  suggest.  Only,  unfortunately, 
it  is  not  possible.  First  of  all,  I  believe  this  insinua- 
tion is  a  lie." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  If  he  had  ever  been  admitted 
a  priest  my  brother  must  have  known  of  it,  and,  in 
any  circumstances,  the  truth  can  soon  be  proved  by 
him.  A  letter  to  the  head  of  the  Jesuit  College  at 
Lisbon  from  another  Jesuit  such  as  Archibald  is  will 
prove  his  statement  to  be  false." 

"Yet  even,"  said  Sir  Charles,  "were  he  a  Jesuit 
priest  and  so  subject  to  arrest  and  imprisonment  in 
this  country,  you  would  stand  in  far  too  much  dan- 
ger to  bring  it  about.  Also,  he  can  tell  too  much, 
as  he  would  undoubtedly  do  if  he  was  himself  given 
up.  Let  us  consider  what  is  best." 

143 


144 


DENOUNCED. 


"I,"  replied  Douglas,  speaking  in  an  even  lower 
whisper,  so  that  the  villain  could  not  possibly  hear 
him,  "go  to-night,  as  you  know.  Archie  probably 
to-morrow,  or  the  next  night,  and  Bertie  is  already 
gone.  Surely  it  might  somehow  be  done." 

"Impossible,"  replied  Sir  Charles,  "impossible. 
Remember,  we  are  in  Lady  Belrose's  house;  we  must 
bring  no  scandal  upon  her.  No,  that  way  will  not 
do." 

"  What  then  ? "  asked  Douglas.  "  What  then  ? 
For  I  am  determined  that  his  power  of  doing  any 
harm  shall  be  forever  quenched  now.  We  have  him 
in  our  hands,  and  we  will  hold  him  fast." 

As  he  spoke  he  glanced  where  the  traitor  sat 
glowering  at  them  from  the  sofa.  He  seemed  now 
to 'be  thoroughly  cowed,  thoroughly  alarmed  also  for 
his  own  safety,  and  his  piercing  black  eyes  scintil- 
lated and  twinkled  more  like  the  eyes  of  a  hunted, 
timorous  creature  than  those  of  a  man.  Indeed,  as 
Douglas  looked  at  him,  it  seemed  as  though  Fording- 
bridge  were  really  mad  with  terror.  Yet,  abject  as 
he  now  was,  the  other  shuddered  again,  as  he  had 
more  than  once  shuddered  before  when  speaking  of 
or  looking  at  the  man. 

"We  must  get  him  away  from  this  house,"  said 
Sir  Charles.  "  I  will  have  no  disturbance  here. 
Come,  let  us  take  him  to  the  park.  There  we  can 
talk  at  freedom,  and,  I  think,  so  persuade  his  lordship 
of  our  intentions  that  henceforth  he  will  be  harmless. 
Do  you  agree  ? " 

Douglas  nodded,  whereon  Sir  Charles,  advancing 
into  the  room  again,  addressed  Lord  Fordingbridge. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  in  his  coldest,  most  freezing 
manner,  "it  were  best  you  sheathed  that  sword,"  and 


I45 

he  pointed  to  it  as  it  lay  beside  him  on  the  sofa. 
"  Such  weapons  are  unfitted  to  a  lady's  house,  and  you 
may  be  at  ease — no  injury  is  intended  you." 

Fordingbridge  gazed  at  him — still  with  the  terror- 
stricken  look  in  his  eyes,  the  glance  almost  of  mad- 
ness or,  at  best,  of  imbecility ;  yet  he  did  as  the  baro- 
net bade  him,  and  replaced  his  weapon.  But  he  uttered 
no  word. 

"  We  shall  be  obliged,"  continued  Sir  Charles,  "  if 
you  will  accompany  us  to  St.  James's  Park.  We  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

"  If,"  said  Fordingbridge,  finding  his  voice  at  last, 
"you  intend  to  make  me  fight  a  duel  with  that  man,  I 
will  not  do  it.  He — 

"  There  is,"  interrupted  Douglas,  "  no  thought  of 
such  a  thing.  My  sword  is  not  made  to  cross  one 
borne  by  you." 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  other  meekly,  "I  will 
come."  But,  a  moment  later,  he  burst  out  into  one  of 
his  more  natural  methods  of  speaking,  and  cried, 
"  You  have  the  whip  hand  of  me  for  the  moment,  but 
we  shall  see.  We  shall  see." 

"We  shall,"  replied  Sir  Charles,  calmly;  "but  if 
your  lordship  is  now  ready  we  may  as  well  depart. 
We  have  already  encroached  somewhat  on  Lady  Bel- 
rose's  hospitality." 

The  grave  manservant  seemed  somewhat  aston- 
ished, when  he  opened  the  street  door  at  a  summons 
from  the  bell,  to  observe  the  three  gentlemen  go  down 
the  steps  together  and  enter  the  hackney  coach  which 
was  still  waiting  for  the  viscount.  Also  he  was  sur- 
prised—since he  and  all  the  other  servants  in  the 
house  had  gathered  a  very  accurate  knowledge  of 
what  had  transpired  in  the  small  saloon— to  witness 


146 


DENOUNCED. 


the  courteous  manner  in  which  Sir  Charles  motioned 
to  his  lordship  to  enter  the  vehicle  before  him,  and 
then  entered  it  himself,  followed  by  Douglas.  Next, 
he  heard  the  direction  given  to  the  man  to  drive  to 
St.  James's  Park,  and  retired,  wondering  what  it  all 
meant.  After  the  words  he  had — by  chance,  of  course 
— overheard  in  the  room,  he,  too,  naturally  supposed 
that  a  duel  was  about  to  be  fought;  but  being  a  dis- 
creet man,  he  only  mentioned  this  surmise  to  his  fel- 
low-servants, and  took  care  not  to  alarm  his  mistress. 

Arrived  in  the  park  and  the  coach  discharged  by 
Sir  Charles,  who  even  took  so  much  of  the  ordering 
of  these  proceedings  upon  himself  as  to  pay  the  man 
the  hire  demanded,  the  former,  still  with  exquisite 
politeness,  requested  Fordingbridge  to  avail  himself 
of  a  vacant  bench  close  by,  since  he  and  his  friend, 
Mr.  Sholto,  had  a  few  words  to  say  to  each  other 
before  they  laid  their  deliberations  before  him.  And 
Fordingbridge,  still  with  the  terror-stricken  look  upon 
his  face  and  the  vacillating  glance  in  his  eyes,  obeyed 
without  a  word. 

And  now  the  others  paced  up  and  down  the  path 
at  a  short  distance  from  him,  but  always  keeping  him 
well  in  their  view,  and  the  deliberations  mentioned 
by  Sir  Charles  took  some  time  in  arriving  at.  But 
they  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and  the  baronet,  drawing 
near  to  the  bench  where  Fordingbridge  was  seated, 
proceeded  to  unfold  them  to  him. 

l(  My  lord,"  he  said,  speaking  with  great  clearness 
and  cold  distinctness,  "  you  may  perhaps  think  that  I 
should  have  no  part  in  whatever  has  transpired  be- 
tween you  and  others.  Yet  I  think  I  have.  It  fell 
to  my  lot— to  my  extreme  good  fortune— to  be  of  as- 
sistance to  the  Viscountess  Fordingbridge,  for  so  I 


FLIGHT. 


147 


shall  continue  to  call  her  in  spite  of  your  observations 
and  disclosures  this1  morning,  which  I  do  not  Relieve. 
It  fell  to  my  lot,  I  repeat,  to  be  of  some  service  to  her 
ladyship  on  a  certain  night  a  week  or  two  ago.  That 
service  was  rendered  necessary  by  your  betrayal  of  a 
cause  which  you  had  once  espoused,  of  a  man  whom 
you  had  previously  injured  cruelly,  and  of  another 
man,  Mr.  Douglas,  who  had  never  injured  you.  There- 
fore, I  was  of  assistance  to  her  ladyship,  who  was 
more  or  less  under  my  charge  and  protection  that 
evening,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  been  able  to  do  so." 

"  I  wish,"  muttered  Fordingbridge  hoarsely,  glar- 
ing at  him,  "that  you  had  been  at  the  devil  before 
you  did  so." 

"  Doubtless.  But  I  was  not.  That  service,  how- 
ever, and  your  visit  to-day  to  the  house  of  a  lady  who 
is  shortly  about  to  honour  me  by  becoming  my  wife, 
justifies  me,  I  think,  in  taking  some  part  in  these  pro- 
ceedings, though  only  as  spokesman.  In  that  char- 
acter I  now  propose  to  tell  you  what  Mr.  Sholto  intends 
to  do." 

"What?"  gasped  Fordingbridge,  moistening  his 
lips. 

"First,"  said  Sir  Charles,  unsparingly,  "  when  he 
has  left  the  country,  which  he  will  do  almost  immedi- 
ately, to  denounce  you  to  His  Majesty's  Government. 
You  are  pledged  by  every  oath  that  can  be  regarded 
as  sacred  in  any  cause  to  the  House  of  Stuart " 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Fordingbridge.  "  No.  I  am  now 
an  adherent  of  the  House  of  Hanover." 

"  I  am  afraid  even  that  will  be  of  little  avail  to  you. 
For,  if  you  are,  you  are  a  double  traitor.  It  was  you 
who  planned  the  attack  on  the  '  Fubbs,'  which  brought 
the  King  from  Herrenhausen  at  the  outbreak  of  the 


148 


DENOUNCED. 


Scotch  Invasion  ;  you  who  circulated  the  papers  offer- 
ing a  la*rge  reward  for  his  assassination  ;  you  who,  but 
a  month  or  so  ago,  brought  over  with  you  Father 
Sholto,  the  most  notorious  plotter  among  the  Jesuits." 

"  I  denounced  him,"  whined  Fordingbridge.  "  I 
denounced  him.  That  alone  will  save  me  from  the 
King's  anger." 

"That,"  replied  Sir  Charles,  "is  possible.  I  am 
willing  to  allow  it.  But  you  are  by  your  own  confes- 
sion a  Jesuit  priest,  therefore  you  will  be  subject  to 
all  the  punishments  and  penalties  now  in  force  against 
such  persons.  Also,  you  will  have  let  loose  against  you 
the  whole  of  the  anger  of  the  Jesuits — should  His  Maj- 
esty be  inclined  to  spare  you — when  Mr.  Sholto  has 
informed  them  of  your  treachery.  You,  as  one  your- 
self, can  best  imagine  what  form  that  anger  is  likely 
to  take." 

Fordingbridge  gasped  as  he  stared  at  the  baronet ; 
and  now,  indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  the  light  of  idiocy 
alone  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"  But,"  went  on  Sir  Charles,  "you  have  also  some- 
thing else  to  reckon  with,  namely,  the  punishment 
which  your  brother  religionists  may  see  fit  to  accord 
to  you  for  having,  as  a  priest — as  you  suggest  your- 
self— gone  through  the  form  of  matrimony.  I  have 
not  the  honour  to  be  of  the  Romanist  religion  myself, 
therefore  I  do  not  know  what  shape  that  punishment 
may  take,  but,  from  what  Mr.  Sholto  tells  me,  it  is  for 
your  own  sake  to  be  hoped  that  you  have  hinted  a  lie 
and  are,  indeed,  no  priest." 

"Let  me  go,"  said  Fordingbridge,  "let  me  go." 
Then  he  muttered,  "  Curses  on  you  all.  If  I  could  kill 
you  both  as  you  stand  there,  blast  you  both  to  death 
before  me,  I  would  do  it." 


149 

"Without  doubt,"  replied  Sir  Charles;  "but  if  you 
will  pardon  my  saying  it,  your  schemes  for  injuring 
others  seem  to  fall  most  extraordinarily  harmless.  And 
I  trust  your  aspirations  for  our  ill  will  not  take  effect 
until,  at  least,  we  have  had  time  to  put  some  leading 
Jesuits  in  France — if  not  here — in  possession  of  your 
true  character." 

"  Curse  you  both,  curse  you  all,"  again  muttered 
Fordingbridge  impotently. 

"  Now,"  continued  Sir  Charles,  "  I  propose  to  ac- 
company your  lordship  as  far  as  the  door  of  your  own 
house.  Once  I  have  seen  you  safe  there,  care  will  be 
taken  that  you  shall  find  no  means  of  communicating 
in  any  way  with  those  who  have  it  in  their  power  to 
injure  our  friends.  When,  however,  they  are  beyond 
your  reach  you  will  be  free  from  observation,  and  will 
be  quite  at  liberty  to  devote  yourself  to  making  an- 
other peace  with  the  Government  and  with  the — Order 
of  the  Jesuits.  My  lord,  shall  we  now  proceed  to 
Kensington-square  ? " 

"  Have  a  care,"  said  Fordingbridge,  with  an  evil 
droop  of  his  eye  at  him,  "  have  a  care,  however,  for 
yourself.  If  they  escape  me,  you  may  not.  A  har- 
bourer  of  Jacobites,  an  abettor  in  their  escape  from 
England  and  from  justice,  I  may  yet  do  you  an  evil 
turn,  Sir  Charles  Ames." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it  if  you  have  the  power.  But, 
Lord  Fordingbridge,  you  have  so  much  to  think  of  on 
your  own  behalf,  you  will  be  so  very  much  occupied  in 
you  own  affairs  shortly — what  with  the  State  on  one 
side  and  trfe  Church  (your  Church)  on  the  other— that 
I  am  afraid  you  will  have  but  little  time  to  devote  to 
me.  And  I  think,  my  lord,  I  can  hold  my  own  against 
you.  Now,  come." 


,50  DENOUNCED. 

Douglas  shook  hands  with  Sir  Charles  as  they  stood 
apart  once  more  from  the  wretched  man,  and  after 
one  hearty  grasp  strode  away  through  the  park,  leav- 
ing.the  other  two  alone.  Yet  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
acknowledge  the  truth  of  the  baronet's  last  whispered 
words  to  him. 

"  Lose  no  time,"  that  gentleman  said  as  they  parted, 
"  in  putting  the  sea  between  you  and  England.  Also 
induce  your  brother  to  go  at  once.  I  have  frightened 
the  craven  cur  sufficiently  to  keep  him  quiet  for  a  day 
or  so — alas !  mine  are  but  idle  threats.  The  Govern- 
ment must  find  out  his  villainies  for  themselves,  while 
for  his  Church  you  must  put  them  on  the  scent,  but 
afterwards  I  cannot  answer  for  what  he  may  do.  Once 
he  finds  that  they  are  but  idle  threats  he  may  go  to 
work  again.  Begone,  therefore,  both  of  you,  and  let 
me  hear  when  you  are  safe  in  France." 

"  Have  no  fear,"  Douglas  replied  ;  "  by  to-morrow, 
if  all  is  well,  we  may  be  in  Calais.  McGlowrie  sends 
another  vessel  to-night.  If  possible,  Archie  and  I,  Kate 
and  her  father,  may  be  in  it.  But  the  day  grows  late, 
there  is  much  to  do.  Again  farewell,  and  thanks, 
thanks,  thanks  for  all." 

"  He  is  safe  from  you,"  said  the  baronet,  turning, 
after  Douglas  was  gone,  to  Fordingbridge.  "  Now, 
my  lord,  I  am  ready." 

"  I  will  not  go  with  you,"  replied  the  other,  some 
spark  of  manliness,  or  perhaps  shame,  rising  in  his 
breast  at  the  manner  in  which  he  was  dominated  by 
this  man  whom,  until  to-day,  he  had  never  seen  nor 
heard  of.  "  I  will  not  go  with  you." 

And  he  drew  back  from  him  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

"  No  ? "  inquired  Sir  Charles,  with  his  most  polished 


FLIGHT.  jcj 

air.  Then  he  continued:  "I  am  sorry  my  enforced 
society  should  be  so  unwelcome."  As  he  spoke  he 
glanced  his  eye  round  the  grassy  slopes  of  the  park 
and  across  the  low  brick  wall  which  at  that  time  sep- 
arated it  from  Piccadilly.  "  I  regret  it  very  much. 
But,  my  lord,  I  must  not  force  myself  where  I  am  dis- 
liked. Therefore,  since  I  see  a  watchman  outside  who 
appears  to  have  little  to  occupy  him,  I  will,  with  your 
lordship's  permission,  ask  him  to  accompany  you  and 
see  you  safely  home.  Or,  stay,"  and  again  his  eye 
roved  over  the  grass,  "  there  is  a  sergeant's  guard  pass- 
ing towards  Buckingham  House — your  lordship  can 
see  their  conical  caps  over  the  bushes — I  will  summon 
them  and  relieve  you  of  my  presence,  since  it  is  so  dis- 
tasteful." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Fordingbridge,  "  if  ever  the  time 
should  come — if  ever  the  chance  is  mine  !  " 

"  It  is  not  at  present,"  replied  the  baronet.  Then, 
with  an  air  of  determination  which  until  now  he  had  not 
assumed,  he  stamped  his  foot  angrily  and  exclaimed : 
"  Come,  sir,  I  will  be  trifled  with  no  longer.  Either 
with  me,  or  the  watch,  or  the  soldiers.  But  at  once. 
At  once,  I  say  !  " 

And  Fordingbridge,  knowing  he  was  beaten,  went 
with  him. 

A  coach  was  found  at  the  park  wicket,  into  which 
they  entered  and  proceeded  to  Kensington,  no  word 
being  uttered  by  either  during  the  drive.  Then,  when 
they  had  arrived  outside  Fordingbridge's  house,  Sir 
Charles,  with  a  relaxation  of  the  courteous  manner 
that  he  had  previously  treated  the  other  to,  said,  coldly 

and  briefly : 

"  Remember,  for  two  days  you  will  have  no  oppor- 
tunity of  injuring  anyone.  That  I  shall  take  steps  to 


Ic>2  DENOUNCED. 

prevent.  Afterwards,  you  will  have  sufficient  occupa- 
tion in  consulting  your  own  welfare,"  and,  raising  his 
three-cornered  hat  an  inch,  he  entered  the  coach 
again.  Only,  he  thought  it  well  to  say  to  the  driver  in 
a  clear,  audible  voice  which  the  other  could  not  fail  to 
hear : 

"  Drive  to  Kensington  Palace  now  ;  I  have  business 
with  the  officer  of  the  guard." 

With  those  terrifying  words  ringing  in  his  ears — 
for  Fordingbridge  knew  how,  at  that  time,  soldiers 
quartered  in  the  neighbourhood  of  suspected  persons 
acted  as  police  act  in  these  days,  and  were  employed 
often  to  make  arrests  of  persons  implicated  with  the 
State — he  entered  his  house,  locking  himself  in  with  a 
key  he  carried.  Then  he  proceeded  at  once  to  ring 
the  bells  and  shout  for  the  deaf  old  servitor,  Luke, 
but  without  effect.  There  was  no  response  to  the 
noise  he  made,  no  sound  of  the  old  man's  heavy,  shuf- 
fling feet,  and  he  began  to  wonder  if  he,  too,  had  taken 
flight  like  the  rest  of  the  servants.  Yet,  even  if  he 
had,  his  master  meditated,  it  would  matter  very  little 
now.  He  was  himself  about  to  take  flight.  London 
was  too  hot  to  hold  him. 

A  coward  ever  from  his  infancy,  there  could  have 
been  no  better  plan  devised  to  frighten  this  man  from 
doing  more  harm  to  those  whom  he  wished  to  injure 
than  the  one  adopted  by  Sir  Charles  Ames;  while  the 
latter's  statement  that  he  had  business  with  the  officer 
of  the  guard  at  Kensington  Palace  was  the  culminat- 
ing point  to  the  other's  fears.  Moreover — although 
his  mind  appeared  to  him  to  be  strangely  hazy  and 
distraught  now,  and  unable  to  retain  the  sequence  of 
that  day's  events — he  recognised  the  fearful  weapon 
he  had  drawn  against  himself  in  suggesting  that  he 


FLIGHT. 


153 


was  a  Jesuit  priest.  Upon  that  statement,  testified  to 
by  Sir  Charles,  a  man  of  responsible  position,  he  would 
certainly  be  arrested  at  once;  while,  if  proof  could  be 
obtained  that  he  was  in  truth  a  priest,  or  had  ever  been 
trained  to  be  one,  the  most  terrible  future  would  lie 
before  him. 

As  he  thought  of  all  this  in  a  wandering,  semi- 
vacant  manner,  he  set  about  doing  that  which,  since 
the  interview  in  the  park,  be  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
do.  He  would  fly  from  England,  he  would  return  to 
France.  Yet,  he  reflected,  if  in  France,  Paris  would 
still  be  closed  to  him.  There  the  Jesuits  were  in  pos- 
session of  terrible  authority,  although  an  authority  not 
recognised  by  the  Government ;  if  they  knew  what  he 
had  done,  even  in  only  betraying  Archibald  Sholto  to 
the  English  authorities,  their  vengeance  on  him  would 
be  sharp,  swift,  terrible.  And  in  Paris  also — he  could 
not  doubt  it — would  soon  be  Bertie  Elphinston  and 
Douglas,  even  Archibald  himself.  No,  it  must  not  be 
Paris.  Not  yet  at  least ! 

But  he  must  be  somewhere  out  of  London,  out  of 
England,  and  he  set  to  work — still  in  a  dazed,  stupefied 
manner — to  make  his  plans. 

He  went  first  to  his  own  bed-room,  to  which  was 
attached  a  small  toilet  or  dressing-room,  and,  unlock- 
ing an  iron-bound  strong  box,  took  from  it  some 
money— a  small  casket  of  Louis  d'ors  and  English 
guineas,  a  leather  case  stuffed  full  of  bills  of  exchange 
and  several  notes,  among  them  a  large  one  drawn  by 
a  Parisian  money-lender  on  a  London  goldsmith. 
Then,  next,  he  opened  a  false  tray,  or  bottom,  in  the 
strong  box,  and  from  it  took  out  several  shagreen 
cases  which  he  slipped  into  his  pocket.  These  con- 
tained all  his  family  jewels. 


154 


DENOUNCED. 


Yet  the  man's  fear  was  so  great  that  he  might  even 
by  now  have  been  denounced  by  Sir  Charles  Ames  to 
the  officer  of  the  guard  at  Kensington  Palace,  that 
more  than  once  he  rose  from  the  box  and,  on  hearing 
any  slight  noise  in  the  square,  ran  to  the  window  and 
peered  out  of  it  and  down  into  the  road,  and  then 
came  back  to  his  task  of  packing  up  his  valuables. 
And  all  the  while  as  he  did  so  he  muttered  to  himself 
continually  : 

"  The  notary  must  see  to  all — I  will  write  to  him 
from  France.  He  had  best  sell  all  and  remit  the 
money.  England  is  done  with  !  Neither  Hanoverian 
nor  Jacobite  now.  Curse  them  both  and  all."  Then 
he  laughed,  a  little  sniggering,  feeble  laugh — it  was 
wondrous  that,  in  the  state  his  mind  was  and  with  the 
ruin  which  was  upon  him,  he  could  have  been  moved 
by  such  a  trifle ! — and  chuckled  to  himself  and  said : 

"  If  Luke  comes  back  now  he  will  find  the  door 
barred  forever.  A  faithful  servant !  A  faithful  serv- 
ant !  Well,  his  home  is  gone.  Let  him  go  drown 
himself." 

He  fetched  next  all  the  silver  which  he  could  find 
about  the  house,  and  which  had  been  brought  forth  on 
his  return  from  the  coffers  where  it  had  lain  since  his 
father's  flight  into  France  years  ago — candelabras,  old 
dishes  and  baskets  and  a  coffee  pot,  with  a  tankard  or 
so — and  hurled  them  into  the  strong  box  and  locked 
it  securely. 

Then,  after  once  more  peering  into  the  square  and 
seeing  that  all  was  clear,  he  descended  to  the  hall, 
opened  the  door  an  inch  or  two  and  again  glanced  his 
eye  round,  and,  a  moment  later,  drew  the  door  to  and 
went  forth  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

UNITED. 

ALL  through  Picardy,  from  Artois  to  the  He  de 
France,  from  Normandy  to  Champagne,  the  wheat  was 
a-ripening  early  that  year,  the  trees  in  the  orchards 
and  gardens  of  the  rich,  fruitful  province  had  their 
boughs  bent  to  the  earth  with  their  loads,  and,  so 
great  was  the  summer  heat,  the  cattle  stood  in  the 
rivers  and  pools  for  coolness,  or  sought  shelter  under 
the  elms  and  poplars  dotted  about  by  the  river's  banks. 

Yet,  heat  notwithstanding,  the  great  bare  road  that 
runs  from  Calais  through  Boulogne,  Abbeville,  and 
Amiens,  as  well  as  through  Clermont  and  Chantilly 
and  St.  Denis  to  Paris,  had  still  its  continuous  traffic 
to  which  neither  summer  nor  winter  made  much  differ- 
ence, except  when  the  snows  of  the  latter  belated 
many  diligences  and  waggons — for  it  was  the  high 
road  between  the  coast  and  the  capital.  And  thus  it 
was  now,  in  this  hot,  broiling  June  of  1746.  Along 
that  road,  passing  each  other  sometimes,  sometimes 
breaking  down,  sometimes,  by  the  carelessness  of 
drunken  drivers  or  postillions,  getting  their  wheels 
into  ditches  and  sticking  there  for  hours,  went  almost 
every  vehicle  that  was  known  in  the  France  of  those 
days.  Monseigneur's  carriage,  drawn  by  four  or  six 
stout  travelling  roadsters — wrenched  for  the  occasion 
from  the  service  of  Monseigneur's  starving  tenants — 


j^g  DENOUNCED. 

and  with  Monseigneur  within  it  looking  ineffably 
bored  at  the  heat  and  the  dust  and  the  inferior  canaille 
who  obtruded  themselves  on  his  vision — would  lumber 
by  the  diligence,  or  Royal  Post,  farmed  from  Louis 
the  well-beloved — so,  loved,  perhaps,  because  he  de- 
spised his  people  and  said  France  would  last  his  time, 
which  was  long  enough  ! — or  be  passed  by  a  desobligttant, 
or  chaise  for  one  person,  or  by  a  fat  priest  on  a  post- 
horse,  or  by  a  travelling  carriage  full  of  provincials 
en  route  for  Paris.  Also,  to  add  to  the  continuous 
traffic  on  this  road  in  that  period,  were  berlins  a  quatre 
chevaux,  carriers'  waggons  loaded  with  merchandise 
either  from  or  to  England,  countless  horsemen  civil 
and  military,  and  innumerable  pedestrians,  since  the 
accomplishment  of  long  journeys  on  foot,  with  a  wallet 
slung  on  the  back,  was  then  one  of  the  most  ordinary 
methods  of  travelling  amongst  the  humbler  classes. 

Seated  in  the  banquette,  or  hooded  seat,  attached  to 
the  back  of  the  diligence  from  Calais  to  Amiens,  on 
one  of  these  broiling  days  in  June  of  1746,  were  Kate 
Fane — as  now  she  alone  would  describe  herself  or  al- 
low herself  to  be  styled — and  her  father.  They  had 
crossed  from  England  in  the  ordinary  packet-boat  a 
day  or  two  before,  and  were  at  this  moment  between 
Abbeville  and  Amiens,  at  which  latter  place  they  pro- 
posed to  remain  for  the  present  at  least.  To  look  at 
her  none  would  have  supposed  that,  not  more  than 
a  week  or  two  before,  this  golden-haired  girl,  now 
dressed  in  a  plain-checked  chintz,  with,  to  protect 
her  head  from  the  heat,  a  large  flapping  straw  hat,  had 
been  discarded  by  the  man  whom  she  had  imagined  to 
be  her  husband ;  had  been  told  that  she  was,  possibly, 
no  lawful  wife.  For  she  looked  happier,  brighter  at 
this  time  than  she  had  ever  done  since  she  went 


UNITED.  je- 

through  a -form  of  marriage  with  the  Viscount  Ford- 
ingbridge,  because — though  not  in  the  way  that  he 
had  falsely  insinuated — she  was  free  of  him, 

"What  was  it  Archie  said  to  ye  ? "  asked  her  father 
as  the  diligence  toiled  up  a  small  hill,  the  road  of 
which  was  shaded  by  trees  from  the  burning  sun. 
"  What  was  it  he  said  to  ye  in  the  letter  you  got  at 
Calais  ?  Tell  me  again ;  I  like  not  to  think  that  my 
daughter  has  been  flouted  and  smirched  by  such  a 
scoundrel  as  that.  Lawfully  married,  humph !  Law- 
fully married,  he  said,  eh  ?" 

"  Lawfully  married  enough,  father,"  Kate  replied. 
"  Lawfully  enough  to  tie  me  to  him  for  ever  as  his 
wife.  But,"  she  went  on,  "  lawful  or  not  lawful,  noth- 
ing shall  ever  induce  me  to  see  him,  to  speak  with  him 
again." 

"  Read  me  the  letter,"  said  Fane ;  "  let  me  hear  all 
about  it." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  answered  his  daughter,  "  time  enough 
when  we  get  to  Amiens,  when  we  shall  all  meet  again. 
Oh,  the  joyful  day  !  The  blessed  chance  !  To  think 
that  to-night  we  shall  all  of  us  be  together  once  more! 
All !  all !  Just  as  we  used  to  be  in  the  happy  old  times 
in  the  Trousse  Vache,"  and  she  busied  herself  with  tak- 
ing a  little  wine  and  water  from  a  basket  she  had  with 
her,  and  a  bunch  of  grapes  and  some  chipped  bread, 
and  ministering  to  the  old  man. 

So,  as  you  may  gather  from  her  words,  those  who 
had  been  in  such  peril  in  England  were  back  safe  in 
France.  Bertie  Elphinston  had  crossed,  disguised,  of 
course,  as  a  drover,  unmolested  by  "  infernal  sloops  o' 
war  and  bomb-ketches  "—to  use  honest  McGlowrie's 
words— or  anything  else.  And,  also,  the  Sholtos  had 
come  in  the  same  way,  finding,  indeed,  so  little  let  or 


158 


DENOUNCED. 


hindrance  in  either  the  river  or  on  the  sea,  that  they 
began  to  think  the  English  King's  rage  and  hate 
against  all  who  had  taken  part  in  the  late  rebellion 
were  slacked  at  last.  They  were,  in  truth,  not  nearly 
glutted  yet,  and  the  safe,  undisturbed  passage  which 
they  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  make  was  due  to 
that  strange  chance  which  so  often  preserves  those 
who  are  in  greatest  danger. 

Still,  they  were  over,  no  matter  how  or  by  what 
good  fortune,  and  that  night — that  afternoon,  in  an- 
other hour's  time — all  would  meet  at  the  Inn,  La  Croix 
Blanche,  in  Amiens. 

At  Calais  Kate  had  learned  the  welcome  tidings ;  a 
letter  had  been  given  into  her  hands  by  no  less  a  per- 
son than  the  great  Dessein  himself — hotel-keeper, 
marchand-de-vin,  job-master,  and  letter  of  coaches, 
chaises,  and  post-horses,  and  plunderer  of  travellers 
generally ! — and  in  it  was  news  from  Father  Sholto,  as 
he  might  safely  be  called  here  in  France,  and  from 
Bertie  and  Douglas. 

Sholto's  letter  told  her  all  she  desired  to  know, 
viz.,  that  Fordingbridge's  suggestion  of  his  being  a 
priest  was  a  lie,  "the  particulars  of  which,"  the  Jesuit 
wrote,  "  I  will  give  you  at  Amiens  when  we  meet." 
Bertie's,  on  the  other  hand,  told  her — manfully  and,  of 
course,  as  a  woman  would  think,  selfishly — that  he 
regretted  that  it  was  an  implied  lie.  "Because," wrote 
he,  "  had  it  been  the  truth,  we  might  have  become 
man  and  wife  within  twenty-four  hours  of  meeting, 
and  now  we  are  as  far  apart  as  ever."  Some  other 
details  were  also  given,  such  as  that  Father  Sholto 
was  in  residence  for  the  time  being  at  the  Jesuit  Col- 
lege, and  that  Bertie  had  rejoined  his  regiment  and 
was  now  on  duty  at  the  Citadel.  Douglas  was  at  the 


UNITED. 

Croix  Blanche,  and  would  take  care  that  suitable  rooms 
were  kept  for  them,  though,  since  it  happened  to  be 
the  great  summer  fair-time,  the  city  was  full  of  all 
kinds  of  people,  and  rooms  in  fierce  demand  at  every 
hostelry. 

These  letters,  received  by  Kate  as  they  landed  from 
the  packet-boat  in  the  canal  at  Calais,  were  sufficient 
to  prompt  her  to  lose  no  time  in  hastening  onward — 
north.  The  diligence,  she  found,  left  the  hospitable 
doors  of  Monsieur  Dessein  at  five  o'clock  on  summer 
mornings,  and  did  the  distance  of  sixty  miles  to  Amiens 
in  eleven  hours,  which  Dessein  spoke  of  approvingly 
— and  falsely — as  being  the  fastest  possible.  Still  they 
could  not  afford  anything  that  was  faster — for  they 
had  little  money  in  their  purse  these  days.  Therefore, 
at  dawn,  they  clambered  into  the  banquette,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  vacant,  and  set  out  upon  their  road. 

And  now,  as  the  diligence  skirted  the  river  Somme, 
and  drew  near  to  Picquigny,  the  towers  of  the  cathe- 
dral Notre  Dame  d' Amiens  came  into  sight,  and  the 
ramparts  of  the  city.  And,  because  it  was  fair-time, 
the  roads  were  full  of  people  of  all  kinds  streaming 
towards  it ;  of  market  people,  with  their  wares,  and 
waggons  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  poultry,  of  sal- 
timbanques  and  strolling  actors,  strong  men,  fat  wom- 
en, dwarfs,  and  giants — since  in  those  days  fairs  were 
not  much  different  from  what  they  are  now,  only  the 
play  was  a  little  rougher  and  the  speech  a  little  coarser 
even  among  the  lowest. 

Nevertheless,  amidst  the  ringing  of  the  cathedral 
bells,  as  well  as  those  of  the  Collegiate  Church  and 
Amiens'  fourteen  parish  churches,  the  diligence  ar- 
rived at  last,  and  only  one  hour  late,  at  the  office  of 
the  Paste  du  ^/,,and  there,  walking  up  and  down  in 


DENOUNCED. 

front  of  it,  were  Bertie  and  Douglas,  both  in  their  uni- 
forms, and  waiting  for  them. 

"  How  did  you  know,  Mr.  Elphinston,"  Kate  asked, 
glad  of  the  bustle  and  confusion  in  the  streets  caused 
by  the  fair  and  by  the  arrival  of  the  diligence,  "  that 
we  should  come  to-day  ?  We  might  not  have  crossed 
from  England  for  another  week — nay,  another  month, 
for  the  matter  of  that." 

"  We  should  have  been  here  all  the  same,"  Bertie 
replied.  "  I  am  not  on  duty  at  this  time  in  the  day, 
and  Douglas  would  have  come  every  afternoon.  We 
have  watched  the  arrival  of  the  diligence,  Kate,  for 
the  last  week — since — ever  since  you  wrote  to  say  you 
were  about  to  set  out." 

"  I  did  not  know  I  told  Archie  that." 

"  No,  but  you  told  me.  Have  you  forgotten  all 
you  wrote  to  me,  Kate  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  her  soft 

blush.  "Yet,  remember,  Ber Mr.  Elphinston — we 

are  as  far  apart  as  ever.  Archie  says  I  am,  in  truth, 
that  man's  wife." 

"  I  remember,"  he  replied ;  "  I  must  remember," 
and  he  led  the  way  into  the  inn,  which  was  close  by 
the  Paste  du  Roi. 

The  young  men  had  been  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  a  room  for  themselves  and  the  new  arrivals, 
where  they  could  sit  as  well  as  take  their  meals  apart, 
in  spite  of  the  inn  being  crowded.  Nay,  those  who 
crowded  it  now  were  scarcely  of  the  class  who  require 
sitting-rooms,  nor,  in  some  cases,  bed-rooms  even ; 
many  of  them  being  very  well  satisfied  to  lie  down  and 
take  their  rest  in  the  straw  of  the  stables.  For  among 
the  customers  of  La  Croix  Blanche  were  horse-dealers 
from  Normandy  and  from  Flanders;  the  performers 


UNITED.  ,6r 

at  the  booths,  the  strolling  actors,  mendicant  friars — 
if  friars  they  were ! — vendors  of  quack  medicines,  and 
all  the  olla-podrida  that  went  to  make  up  a  French 
fair.  These  cared  not  where  they  slept,  while  of  those 
who  sought  bed-rooms  there  were  commit  voyageurs, 
ruffling  gentlemen  of  the  road,  bedizened  with  tawdry 
lace,  and  with  red,  inflamed  faces  beneath  their  bag- 
wigs  £  la  pigeon — on  whom  the  local  watch  kept  wary 
eyes — large  purchasers  of  woollen  ribbons  and  ferrets, 
serges,  stuffs,  and  black  and  green  soap  for  the  Paris 
market,  in  the  production  of  all  of  which  things  Amiens 
has  ever  been  famous,  as  well  as  for  its  pdti  de  canard. 
Nor  did  any  of  these  people  require  private  rooms  for 
the  consumption  of  their  food,  but,  instead,  ate  to- 
gether at  the  ordinary,  or  fed  in  the  kitchen  among 
the  scullions  and  their  pots  and  pans. 

Therefore,  undisturbed,  or  disturbed  only  by  the 
cries  that  arose  from  below,  as  evening  came  on  and 
the  guests'  table  became  crowded,  Douglas  and  Bertie 
ministered  to  the  wants  of  Kate  and  her  father,  and 
compared  notes  of  the  passages  they  had  made  across 
from  England.  Also  they  spoke  of  their  future,  Kate's 
being  that  which  needed  the  most  discussion. 

"  Prince  Edward  is  safe,"  said  Bertie, "  of  this  there 
is  no  doubt.  He  is  known  by  those  of  this  country, 
though  by  none  in  England,  to  be  secure  with  Cluny 
in  the  mountain  of  Letternilichk,  near  Moidart.  Off 
Moidart  is  the  "  Bellona,"  a  Nantes  privateer,  with 
three  hundred  and  forty  men  on  board,  and  well  armed. 
She  will  get  him  away,  in  spite  of  Lestock's  squadron, 
which  is  hovering  about  between  Scotland  and  Brit- 
tany. Now,  Kate,  when  he  arrives  in  Paris,  as  he  will 
do  shortly,  his  household  will  be  a  pleasant  one.  Your 
place  must  be  there." 


Z62  DENOUNCED. 

"  In  the  household  of  the  prince!  "  exclaimed  Kate. 

"  Ay  !  in  the  household  of  the  prince.  Nay,  never 
fear.  You  will  not  be  the  only  woman.  The  Ladies 
Elcho  and  Ogilvie  will  be  with  you ;  also  old  Lady 
Lochiel.  Oh,  you  will  be  a  bonnie  party  !  While,  as 
for  Mr.  Fane,  some  place  must  also  be  found." 

"  But  who  is  to  find  these  places  ? "  she  asked. 

"Archie,"  replied  Douglas.  "He  has  interest 
enough  with  Tencin  to  do  anything.  Indeed,  from 
finding  a  post  at  court  to  obtaining  a  lettre  de  cachet,  he 
can  do  it." 

"  Why,"  said  Bertie  to  him  aside,  noticing  that  he 
turned  pale  as  he  spoke,  "  did  you  shiver  then,  Doug- 
las, as  I  have  seen  you  do  before  now  ?  You  do  not 
fear  a  lettre  de  cachet  for  Vincennes  or  the  Bastille — 
and — and — we  are  not  talking  of  the  man  at  whose 
name  I  have  seen  you  shiver  before." 

"  I — I  do  not  know,"  his  companion  replied.  "  It 
must  be  that  I  am  fey,  or  a  fool,  or  both.  Yet,  last 
night  I  dreamt  that  Archie  was  asking  the  minister  for 
a  lettre  de  cachet  to  consign  someone — I  know  not 
whom — to  the  Bastille,  and — and — I  woke  up  shiver- 
ing as  I  did  just  now." 

"  It  could  not  be  for  you,  at  least,"  answered  the 
other. 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Douglas,  moodily,  "  for  some- 
one who  had  injured  me.  Who  knows  ?  " 

Whatever  reply  his  stronger-minded  friend  might 
have  made  to  this  gloomy  supposition,  which  was  by 
no  means  the  first  he  had  known  Douglas  to  be  sub- 
jected to,  was  not  uttered  since  at  that  moment 
Archibald  Sholto  himself  entered  the  room. 

His  greetings  to  Kate  were  warm  and,  at  the  same 
time,  brotherly.  He,  too,  remembered  how  for  years 


UNITED.  !63 

the  little  party  assembled  now  in  La  Croix  Blanche  had 
all  been  as  though  one  family  ;  he  remembered  the 
black  spot  that  had  come  amongst  them;  that  to 
Fordingbridge,  whom  he  himself  had  introduced  into 
Fane's  house,  was  owing  most,  if  not  all,  of  the  evil 
that  had  befallen  them.  Also  he  recalled  that,  but  for 
Fordingbridge's  treachery,  neither  he,  nor  Bertie,  nor 
Douglas  would  have  been  forced  to  flee  out  of  Eng- 
land for  their  lives;  that  Kate  would  never  have  for- 
feited her  position  nor  have  had  the  foul  yet  guarded 
suggestion  hurled  against  her  that  she  was  no  wife, 
but  only  a  priest's  mistress.  Then,  when  their  first 
welcomes  and  salutations  were  over,  he  spoke  aloud 
to  her  on  the  subject  that,  above  all,  engrossed  their 
minds. 

"  Kitty,"  he  said,  "  is  Fordingbridge  gone  mad  ? 
For  to  madness  alone  can  such  conduct  as  'his  be  at- 
tributed." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  replied.  "  I  cannot  say.  All 
I  know  is  that  he  is  a  villain  and  a  traitor — that  I 
have  done  with  him  for  ever.  Yet  he  must  be  mad 
when  he  throws  out  so  extraordinary  a  hint  as  that  he 
is  a  priest.  He  could  not  have  been  a  priest,  and  you 
not  know  it — could  he  ?  " 

Up  from  the  guests'  room  below  there  came  the 
hubbub  of  those  at  supper,  the  shouts  of  the  copper 
captains  for  more  petits  pigolets  of  wine,  mixed  with 
the  clattering  of  plates  and  dishes,  the  calls  of  other 
travellers  for  food,  and  the  general  disturbance  that 
accompanies  a  French  inn  full  of  visitors,  as  Father 
Sholto  answered  gravely : 

"  My  child,  he  might  have  been  a  priest  and  I  not 
know  it ;  God  might  even  have  allowed  so  wicked  a 
scheme  to  enter  his  heart  as  that,  being  one,  he 


164 


DENOUNCED. 


should  go  through  a  form  of  marriage  with  an  inno- 
cent woman.  But,  my  dear,  one  thing  is  still  certain, 
he  was  not,  is  not,  a  priest — I  know  it  now  beyond 
all  doubt ;  you  are  as  lawfully  his  wife  as  it  is  pos- 
sible for  you  to  be." 

"  What — what,  then,  was  the  use  of  such  a  state- 
ment, such  a  lie,  added  to  all  the  others  which — God 
forgive  him ! — he  has  already  told  since  first  he  dark- 
ened our  door  ?  " 

"  The  gratification  of  his  hate,  his  revenge  against 
you  and  all  of  us.  He  hated  you  because  you  had  never 
loved  him,  and  had  at  last  come  to  despise  him ;  he  hated 
Bertie  because  you  had  always  loved  him  "  (as  he  spoke, 
the  eyes  of  those  two  met  in  one  swift  glance,  and  then 
were  quickly  lowered  to  the  table  at  which  they  sat) ; 
"  he  hated  me  because  I  knew  him.  And,  remember, 
until  he  had  put  himself  in  the  power  of  Douglas  and 
Sir  Charles  Ames  by  insinuating  himself  to  be  what  he 
was  not — a  priest — he  thought  that  I  should  soon  be 
removed  from  his  path  for  ever.  Once  in  the  power  of 
the  English  Government,  my  tongue  would  have  been 
silenced ;  it  would  have  been  hard  to  prove,  perhaps, 
that  he  was  not  a  priest;  that  you  were  a  lawful  mar- 
ried woman." 

"  Yet,  surely,  it  could  have  been  proved  in  some 
way.  And — and — of  what  avail  such  a  lie  to  him  ? 
Knowing  he  is  not  a  priest,  he  would  not  have  dared 
to  take  another  wife." 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Sholto,  "  he  had  no  desire  to 
take  another.  If  he  is  not  mad,  he  had  but  one  wish, 
to  outrage  and  insult  you,  and  thereby  avenge  himself 
upon  you.  Moreover,  he  must  have  some  feelings 
still  left  in  him — your  very  renunciation  of  him  may 
have  led  to  his  denial  of  you." 


UNITED. 


I65 


"  How  have  you  found  for  certain  that  he  is  no 
priest  ? " 

"  In  the  easiest  manner.  A  letter  to  the  '  General ' 
at  Rome,  another  to  the  '  Provincial '  at  Lisbon,  and, 
lo  !  a  reply  from  each  to  the  effect  that  neither  under 
the  name  of  Simeon  Larpent  nor  the  title  of  Viscount 
Fordingbridge  had  anyone  been  ever  admitted  to  the 
Society  of  Jesus.  At  St.  Omer,  I  knew,  of  course, 
such  a  thing  could  not  have  happened  ;  nay,  I  knew 
more  :  I  knew  that  neither  as  novice  nor  acolyte,  even, 
had  Fordingbridge  ever  been  admitted,  nor  had  he 
submitted  to  any  of  those  severe  examinations  which 
all  must  pass  through  ere  they  can  become  these  alone. 
As  for  priest — well,  it  was  impossible,  impossible  that 
he  could  be  one  and  I  not  know  it,  never  have  heard 
of  it." 

"So,  Kate,"  whispered  Bertie  to  her,  "you  are  still 
Lady  Fordingbridge.  As  far  apart  as  ever — as  far 
apart  as  ever." 

"  Surely,"  said  she  to  him,  as  now  they  talked  alone 
and  outside  the  general  conversation  that  was  going 
on,  "  surely  it  is  better  so.  I  have  renounced  him,  it 
is  true;  willingly  I  will  never  see  nor  speak  to  him 
again ;  he  and  I  are  sundered  for  ever.  Yet — yet — 
Bertie,"  and  for  the  first  time  now,  after  so  long,  she 
called  him  frankly  by  the  old,  familiar  name,  "  I  could 
never  have  come  to  you  had  I  been  that  other  thing. 
You  could  not  have  taken  such  as  I  should  have  been 
for  your  wife." 

He  looked  at  her,  but  answered  no  word.  Then 
he  sighed  and  turned  away. 

They  sat  far  into  the  evening  talking  and  making 
plans,  while  still,  through  the  warm  summer  night,  the 
noise  of  the  crowded  city  came  in  at  their  windows 


!66  DENOUNCED. 

and  nearly  deafened  them.  And  this  is  what  they 
decided  upon  for  the  future. 

The  troop  to  which  Bertie  Elphinston  belonged  in 
the  Regiment  of  Picardy  would  be  removed,  later  on, 
to  quarters  at  St.  Denis,  and  at  about  the  same  time 
Douglas  would  rejoin  his  regiment  in  Paris,  while  his 
brother  Archibald  was  about  to  depart  for  St.  Omer, 
where  he  should  remain  for  some  time.  He  had,  he 
said,  nothing  more  to  do  now  in  the  world,  since  the 
restoration  he  had  hoped  so  much  from  had  failed 
altogether.  Therefore,  because  at  present  there  was 
no  need  for  Kate  to  go  to  Paris,  and  because,  also,  her 
father  became  more  and  more  ailing  every  day,  they 
decided  to  remain  at  Amiens,  to  live  quietly  there  in 
lodgings,  and  to  have  at  least  the  friendship  of  the 
two  young  men  to  cheer  them.  There  was  still  a 
little  money  left  from  the  sale  of  Doyle  Fane's  fencing 
school  in  Paris — indeed,  it  had  never  been  touched 
since  Kate's  marriage — which  would  suffice  for  their 
wants,  especially  since  Amiens  was  cheaper  than  Paris 
to  reside  in.  Then,  when  the  time  came,  they  would 
all  move  on  to  the  capital,  and  there,  as  they  told 
each  other,  try  to  forget  the  black,  bitter  year  which 
had  come  and  separated  them  all  from  the  happy  life 
they  had  once  led  together. 

"Only,"  said  Bertie  once  again  that  night  to  her, 
ere  he  went  back  to  the  Citadel,  "  only,  still  we  are 
parted;  the  gulf  is  ever  between  us.  O  Kate,  Kate! 
if  it  were  not  for  that." 

And  once  more  for  reply  she  whispered: 

"  Tis  better  so,  better  than  if  it  had  been  as  he, 
that  other,  said.  At  least  I  am  honest;  if — if  freedom 
ever  comes,  no  need  for  you  to  blush  for  me." 

"  Nay,"    he  said,    "  none  could  do  that,   knowing 


UNITED.  !6j 

all.  For  myself,  Kate,  I  would  it  had  been  as  the 
wretch  said.  Then  the  bar  would  not  be  there." 

"But  the  blot  would." 

With  which  words  she  left  him  and  the  others,  going 
with  her  father  to  the  rooms  prepared  for  them. 

Meanwhile,  as  now  the  full  night  was  upon  them, 
the  hubbub  and  the  uproar  grew  greater  in  the  inn. 
Back  from  the  booths  and  open-air  theatres  came  the 
mummers  and  the  mountebanks,  the  mendicant  friars 
with  their  pills  and  potions,  balsams,  styptics,  and 
ointments,  the  Norman  and  Flemish  horse  dealers — 
the  latter  drunk  and  shouting  for  more  drink — and  all 
the  rest.  And  they  distributed  themselves  about  the 
Croix  Blanche,  as,  indeed,  they  were  doing  in  every 
other  hostelry  in  Amiens,  and  laughed  and  shrieked 
and  howled  and  cursed  as  they  sought  their  beds  in 
the  straw  or  the  garrets,  and  turned  the  ancient  city 
into  a  veritable  pandemonium. 

"  I  will  walk  with  you  a  part  of  the  way,"  said 
Douglas  to  his  brother  and  Bertie  as  they  rose  to  de- 
part. "  This  narrow  street  is  hot  and  stuffy,  especially 
with  the  fumes  that  arise  from  the  revellers  below. 
The  night  air  will  be  cool  and  refreshing  before 
sleep." 

And  buckling  on  his  sword  he  went  down  with 
them,  and  out  through  the  still  crowded  inn  yard. 

At  the  Jesuit  College  he  parted  with  Archibald, 
and  went  on  a  little  farther  with  Bertie,  and  then,  say- 
ing that  he  was  refreshed  with  the  coolness,  bade  him 
also  good-night. 

"It  is  good  for  us  all  to  be  together  again,  Bertie, 
boy,  is  it  not  ? "  he  exclaimed  as  they  shook  each  other 
by  the  hand ;  "  good  to  think  that,  with  but  a  few  in- 
tervals of  separation  when  on  service,  we  shall  scarcely 


X68  DENOUNCED. 

ever  be  parted  more.  Nothing  is  wanting  now  but 
that  you  and  Kate  could  come  together  lawfully." 

"That,"  replied  the  other,  "seems  never  likely  to 
be  permitted  to  us.  Well,  we  must  bear  it,  hard  as  it 
is.  Yet,  Douglas,  I  am  as  honestly  glad  as  you  can 
be  that  we  are  safe  back  in  France  with  all  our  troubles 
over." 

"Yes,"  replied  Douglas,  "with  our  troubles  over. 
Yet  I  wonder  where  that  rogue  ingrain,  Fording- 
bridge,  is  ?" 

He  was  soon  to  know. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
"TREASON  HAS  DONE  HIS  WORST." 

SOME  of  those  who  came  to  Amiens  as  attendants 
upon  the  fair  had  not  yet  sought  their  beds,  whether 
in  the  straw  of  the  stables,  on  the  brick  floors  of  the 
kitchens,  or  in  the  sweltering  garrets  under  the  red- 
tiled  roofs.  Night  birds,  however,  were  most  of  these, 
creatures  who  found  their  account  in  roaming  the 
streets,  seeking  whom  they  might  devour.  Night  birds, 
such  as  the  bellowing,  red-faced  bullies  who  had  been 
shouting  all  day  for  drink  and  food  in  the  Croix 
Blanche,  and  who,  managing  to  keep  sober  in  spite  of 
all  their  potations,  sallied  forth  at  midnight.  For  it 
was  then  their  work  began.  Then  horse  dealers,  mer- 
chants, buyers,  dissolute  members  of  the  local  bour- 
geoisie and  the  petite  noblesse,  making  their  way  to  their 
lodgings  or  houses,  found  themselves  suddenly  seized 
by  the  throat  or  from  behind,  and  their  watches, 
trinkets  and  rings  taken  from  them  and  their  purses 
cut — nay,  might  deem  themselves  fortunate  if  their 
throats  were  not  cut  too. 

Once  or  twice  men  of  this  stamp  passed  Douglas 
after  he  had  quitted  his  friend— fellows  in  soiled  finery 
with  great  swords  by  their  sides,  and  with  their  huge 
hats  drawn  down  over  their  faces — who  looked  at  him 
askance,  seeing  his  sword  also  by  his  side  and  noting 
his  well-knit  form  and  military  bearing.  But,  as  they 

169 


DENOUNCED. 

observed  his  glance  fixed  keenly  on  them  and  his  hand 
ready  enough  to  his  weapon,  they  passed  on  with  a 
surly  "Good-night." 

Making  his  way  back  to  the  inn,  Douglas  came  to 
a  sudden  halt  as  he  arrived  under  the  Jleau  Dieu  on 
the  pillar  of  the  great  west  doorway  of  Notre  Dame 
<T 'Amiens,  for,  in  the  open  space  in  front  of  that  en- 
trance he  saw  two  of  these  very  night  birds  standing, 
evidently,  as  he  supposed  at  first,  planning  and  con- 
cocting some  villainy.  Regarding  them  from  behind 
a  buttress  of  that  old  cathedral  of  Robert  de  Lu- 
zarches,  he  could  observe  them  and  all  their  move- 
ments plainly  enough,  since  the  full  moon  was  high  in 
the  heavens  by  now;  and,  although  the  towers  ob- 
scured somewhat  the  light,  a  great  stream  of  it  poured 
down  into  the  place  before  the  west  doorway  and  with 
its  rays  illuminated  the  space. 

Great  brawny  fellows  they  were,  he  could  see ;  good 
types  of  the  half  swashbuckler,  half  highwayman,  of 
the  period — the  class  of  men  who  would  be  found  one 
day  fighting  as  mercenaries  at  Placentia  or  Raucoux, 
another  robbing  a  church  or  some  lonely  grange, 
another  hung  or  broken  on  the  wheel,  or  swinging  in 
chains  on  a  gibbet  on  some  heath  or  by  the  seashore. 

"  By  St.  Firmin  !  "  he  heard  one  say  to  the  other, 
while  he  balanced  something  in  his  hand  which  spar- 
kled in  the  moonlight  as  he  gazed  down  at  it,  "  who 
would  have  thought  the  scarecrow  had  such  valuables 
upon  him?  Regardez  moi  fa!"  and  again  he  moved 
what  he  had  in  his  hand,  so  that  it  glittered  as  though 
on  fire. 

"  'Tis  enough,"  replied  the  other,  "we  have  done 
well  this  fairing.  Now  for  Paris  and  vogue  la  ga- 
te re !  We  have  the  wherewithal  to  amuse  ourselves 


"TREASON   HAS   DONE   HIS  WORST."          l?l 

for  a  year.  Come,  let  us  ride  to-night ;  to-morrow  he 
may  raise  a  hue  and  cry.  Come,  the  horses  are  out- 
side ;  the  gates  do  not  shut  till  midnight.  Hark  !  it 
wants  but  a  quarter,"  he  broke  off  as  the  big  clock 
above  them  boomed  out  that  hour.  "Come,"  and 
clasping  his  companion's  arm  they  disappeared  round 
the  other  side  of  the  cathedral. 

The  first  impulse  of  Douglas  was  to  seize  these  men, 
if  possible;  the  next,  since  they  were  two  to  one,  to 
follow  them  to  the  gate  and  there  to  call  on  the  watch- 
man to  prevent  their  exit.  And  knowing  that  some 
robbery  had  been  committed,  perhaps  some  murder — 
as  was  very  likely — he  was  about  to  put  this  idea  in 
practice  when  his  action  was  arrested  by  what  startled 
him  far  more  than  the  sight  of  the  two  scoundrels  re- 
garding their  stolen  wealth  had  done. 

That  which  so  startled  him  was  a  man's  form  creep- 
ing up  behind  him  in  the  shadow  of  the  cathedral,  a 
man  who  had  come  so  near  to  him  without  his  knowing 
it  that,  as  Douglas  turned  and  faced  him,  he  sprang 
out  at  him  and  endeavoured  to  seize  him  by  the  throat. 
And  as  he  did  so  he  shrieked  out,  "  Villain,  thief,  give 
me  back  my  property  !  Give  it  back,  I  say,  or,"  and  he 
hissed  the  words  out,  "  I  will  kill  you !  See,  I  am 
armed :  you  have  left  me  this,"  and  he  brandished  a 
long  knife  that  shone  in  the  moonlight — into  which 
Douglas  had  now  dragged  him — as  the  jewels  had 
heretofore  shone. 

Of  the  man  himself,  nor  of  his  dagger,  Douglas  had 
no  fear ;  he  was  stronger  than  his  antagonist,  and  his 
hand  held  the  other's,  which  grasped  the  weapon,  as  in 
a  vice.  But  what  appalled,  almost  unnerved  him,  was 
that  he  knew  the  voice — and  he.  knew  the  man.  It 
was  Fordingbridge. 


172 


DENOUNCED. 


"  You  fool  I "  he  cried,  "  do  you  not  know  me  ?  I  am 
Douglas  Sholto,"  and  as  he  said  the  words  he  felt  the 
other's  hold  relax,  felt  him  disengage  himself  and 
stagger  back  against  the  wall  of  the  cathedral,  where, 
the  moon  lighting  up  his  pale,  cadaverous  face,  he 
stood  gasping  and  glaring  at  him. 

"  Douglas  Sholto  !  "  he  muttered,  whispering  to  him- 
self, "  Douglas  Sholto  here  ?  So,  you  herd  with  thieves 
and  robbers,  do  you  ?  Where  are  they  gone,  those 
others  ?  Where,  where,  I  say  ? " 

"  To  the  gates,  I  imagine.  Beyond  them  by  now," 
for  as  he  spoke  the  hour  boomed  forth  from  the  clock 
in  the  tower  above,  and  was  repeated  by  all  the  other 
clocks  in  the  city.  "  Your  property,  Lord  Fording- 
bridge,  is  gone.  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  sorry  for  it, 
though,  had  you  not  come  when  you  did,  I  was  about 
to  follow  the  men  who  robbed  you  and  have  them 
stopped  at  the  gate.  Now,  knowing  whom  they  have 
despoiled,  I  can  only  say  I  rejoice  that  for  once  you 
have  met  with  scoundrels  as  great  as  yourself." 

Glowering,  staring  at  him  intently,  the  other  leaned 
back  against  the  cathedral,  while  from  his  eyes  there 
shone  a  light  which  looked  like  the  light  of  madness. 
Nay,  in  that  moment  Douglas  decided  in  his  own  mind 
that  he  was  mad.  Still,  so  great  a  villain  did  he  know 
Fordingbridge  to  be,  that,  gentle  as  he  was  to  all  oth- 
ers, he  could  feel  no  pity  towards  him.  Instead,  he 
said: 

"  So,  my  lord,  not  content  with  having  nearly  sac- 
rificed our  lives  in  England,  you  have  tracked  us  all  to 
this  place,  doubtless  in  furtherance  of  some  scheme  of 
your  own,  though  what  it  is  I  cannot  even  guess.  You 
can  harm  no  one  here.  Your  spite " 

"  It  is  false,"  said  Fordingbridge  ;  "  I  have  done  no 


"TREASON   HAS   DONE   HIS  WORST."          j^ 

such  thing.  I  am  myself  on  the  road  to  Paris" 
— he  did  not  say  that  he  was  a  fugitive  from  Eng- 
land— "  and  I  have  been  robbed  of  all — jewels,  money, 
bills." 

"  To  Paris !  "  echoed  Douglas.  "  I  am  afraid  you 
will  scarcely  be  welcome  there.  The  base  hint  you 
gave  about  being  a  priest  will  surely  lead  you  into 
trouble — for  it  is  a  lie,  as  my  brother  has  discovered," 
and  he  saw  the  other  start  at  his  words.  But  he  went 
on :  "  Moreover,  there  are  many  ardent  adherents  of 
the  Stuart  cause  in  Paris.  How  do  you  imagine  they 
•  will  receive  the  intelligence  that  you,  a  supposed  ad- 
herent yourself,  endeavoured  to  betray  three  others  to 
their  doom  in  London  ?  Lord  Fordingbridge,  take  my 
advice,  do  not  go  to  Paris." 

In  truth,  he  had  no  intention  of  going  to  Paris,  as 
has  been  already  told.  After  much  deliberation,  when 
he  stole  away  from  his  house  at  Kensington,  and  dur- 
ing the  time  occupied  in  escaping  to  France,  he  had 
been  meditating  much  upon  where  he  should  live, 
where  go  to  until  the  trouble  he  had  brought  upon 
himself  by  his  own  evil  actions  should  have  blown  over. 
Money  he  did  not  want,  having  a  large  sum  in  France 
that  had  been  invested  by  his  father,  as  well  as  that 
which  he  could  procure  from  his  property  in  England, 
and  so,  at  last,  he  decided  that  he  would  for  some  time 
at  least  take  up  his  abode  at  Amiens.  There  he  was 
comparatively  near  Paris  if  he  wished  at  any  time  to 
visit  the  capital,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was  but  a 
day's  journey  to  the  seaports  of  Calais  and  Boulogne, 
should  he  find  it  necessary  at  any  time  to  quit  France 
suddenly.  Full  of  these  ideas,  and  certain  that  it 
would  not  be  long  before  he  could  either  return  to  Eng- 
land or  take  up  his  position  in  Paris,  he  had  come  on 


DENOUNCED. 

to  Amiens  and  was  now  staying  at  a  larger  inn  than  the 
Croix  Blanche  under  the  name  of  Mr.  Chester — which 
had  been  his  mother's. 

He  had  come  out  that  night,  partly  driven  forth  by 
the  shouts  and  carousings  that  were  going  on  in  his 
own  hostelry  in  the  same  manner  that  they  were  in  all 
the  others  in  the  city,  and  which,  with  his  brain  in  the 
state  it  had  been  for  some  time  now,  were  madden- 
ing to  him.  And  partly,  also,  he  had  been  driven  forth 
by  discovering  that  a  large  group  of  English  visitors 
had  arrived  during  the  afternoon,  the  very  sight  of 
whom  was  terrifying  to  him,  since  amongst  them  were- 
one  or  two  young  men  of  fashion  whom  he  had  more 
than  once  met  at  King  George's  levees.  Therefore,  he 
had  determined  to  wander  about  the  city  until  it  was 
time  to  go  to  bed,  and  then  to  return  and  keep  his  room 
until  the  English  party  had  gone  on  to  Paris  the  next 
morning  and  the  hubbub  of  the  fair  was  over.  But 
near  the  cathedral  he  had  been  attacked  and  robbed 
of  his  money  and  trinkets — which,  for  precaution,  as 
he  imagined,  he  had  kept  on  his  person — and  in  en- 
deavouring to  follow  the  thieves  he  had  stumbled  on 
Douglas  Sholto. 

"  No  one  would  know  that  I  was  in  Paris,"  he  said, 
with  a  cunning  leer  in  his  eyes,  as  he  answered  the 
other's  remark.  "  No  one,  no  one." 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  Douglas,  "everyone 
would  know — Bertie,  my  brother,  your  wife,  all." 

Again  the  other  leered  at  him  with  so  sidelong  a 
glance,  with  such  a  snake-like  look,  that  Douglas,  re- 
membering how  Archibald  had  said  that  night  that  he 
must  be  mad,  began  to  feel  sure  that  he  was,  indeed, 
in  the  presence  of  a  demoniac — a  creature  whose  pur- 
suit of  evil  had  turned  his  brain.  And  again,  for  some 


"TREASON   HAS   DONE   HIS   WORST." 


175 


reason,  the  young  man  shuddered  violently  as  he 
looked  at  him,  as  he  had  shuddered  more  than  once 
before. 

"  No,"  hissed  Fordingbridge,  glinting  his  eyes 
round  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  great  cathedral, 
which,  with  the  exception  of  the  spot  where  they 
stood,  close  up  by  the  door,  was  now  bathed  in  moon- 
light. "  No  ;  they  do  not  know,  they  will  never  know. 
They  think  I  am  still  in  England ;  that  I  shall  not 
leave  it." 

"  Indeed !  Will  they  think  so  to-morrow  when  I 
tell  them  I  have  met  you  to-night  ? " 

"Tell  them  to-morrow!  To-morrow?"  he  whis- 
pered. "  How  can  you  do  that,  Douglas  Sholto  ? " 

"  Very  easily.     They  are  all  here." 

"  Here ! "  He  almost  screamed  the  word  "  here," 
and  his  eyes  roved  round  the  place  as  though  he 
thought  they  might  be  hiding  behind  some  buttress,  or 
pillar,  ready  to  spring  out  on  him. 

"  Ay,  here.  One,  who  seeks  for  you  ever,  at  the 
Citadel,  another  at  the  Jesuits'  College,  and  your  wife 
at  an  inn  in  the  town." 

Fordingbridge  reeled  back   against  the  cathedral 
walls  once  more  as  he  heard  this  unexpected  dis- 
closure—he had  until  now  imagined  that  Douglas  was 
alone  in  Amiens;  and  there  he  stood  absolutely  para- 
lysed with  apprehension.    In  Amiens !     The  very  place 
he  had  selected  for  a  refuge.    In  Amiens.    They  would 
know  all  to-morrow,  all.     And  he  would  be  brought 
face  to  face  with  Elphinston,  who  would  slay  him,  h 
never  doubted;  with  Archibald  Sholto,  who  would  de 
nounce  him  to  the  Jacobites,  of  whom  there  were  many 
in  this  city  as  well  as  Paris;  to  the  Church,  whicl 
had  slandered  by  falsely  stating  himself  to  be  one  < 


176 


DENOUNCED. 


its  priests.  A  Church  which,  he  knew — had  reason 
enough  to  know — was  sufficiently  powerful  to  resent 
any  affront  to  it ;  a  Church  which — though  the  In- 
quisition had  no  foothold  in  France — could  make  its 
vengeance  felt.  And  he  remembered  he  had  bound 
himself  to  that  Church  by  many  oaths  to  further  the 
Stuart  cause  in  England,  and  had  ended  by  denounc- 
ing three  of  its  most  active  partisans!  No  need  for^ 
Elphinston  to  force  him  to  fight ;  no  need  for  the 
Jacobites  to  take  vengeance  on  him  for  his  treachery ; 
Archibald  Sholto  would  see  that  the  punishment  was 
accorded. 

As  he  stood  there,  while  Douglas  remained  regard- 
ing him,  he  thought  it  all  out  as  well  as  his  disordered 
mind  would  permit;  remembered  that  but  for  the 
hated  form  of  the  man  before  him  they  would  never 
know  he  was  in  France.  And  if  they  never  knew, 
then  he  might  remain  in  peace  until  things  could  be 
smoothed  over  in  England.  But  could  they  be  so 
smoothed  ?  He  must  know  that  first. 

"  You  drove  me  out  of  England,"  he  said,  or  rather 
whined;  " now  you  would  drive  me  out  of  France"; 
and  he  folded  his  hands  across  his  breast  as  he  spoke, 
and  stood  shaking  before  the  other. 

"  Your  own  cowardice,  your  own  wickedness,  drove 
you  out,"  replied  Douglas.  "Nought  else.  And,  Lord 
Fordingbridge,  because  I  would  not  have  you  regard 
us  upon  the  same  bad  level  as  yourself,  let  me  tell  you 
this :  None  of  us  are  spies,  denouncers,  informers. 
None.  We  do  not  shift  from  white  to  black  cockade 
to  save  our  necks  nor  to  gratify  a  base  hatred.  You 
were  not  denounced  by  us  to  the  English  Government 
even  after  your  execrable  lies  at  Lady  Belrose's;  we 
but  frightened  you  into  silence  till  we  had  time  to 


TREASON   HAS   DONE   HIS  WORST.' 


177 


quit  England  ourselves.  You  have  been  terrified  by 
a  bugbear — by  your  own  evil  nature." 

Alas !  poor  Douglas.  He  was  no  match  for  this 
crafty,  frenzied  villain.  He  told  more  than  he  should. 
He  showed  Fordingbridge  that  England  was  still  open 
to  him;  he  presented  him  with  the  knowledge  that, 
besides  himself,  there  was  no  one  knew  of  his  presence 
in  France. 

In  a  moment  the  wretch  had  grasped  this  fact;  in 
another  he  had  resolved  on  what  he  would  do.  His 
glittering  eye  still  upon  Douglas,  who  stood  there 
calmly  contemptuous,  his  left  hand  idly  resting  on  his 
sword  hilt,  and  his  right  in  the  lace  of  his  ruffles,  he 
asked : 

"Is  this  true?" 

For  answer  Douglas  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
replied,  "  All  men  are  not  born  liars." 

Alas !  poor  Douglas.  Unready  as  he  was,  he  had 
no  time  to  save  himself. 

With  a  harsh,  raucous  cry  the*other  sprang  at  him ; 
the  knife,  which  he  had  held  hidden  in  his  sleeve  so 
long,  gleamed  in  the  moonlight;  a  moment  later  and  it 
was  buried  in  Douglas's  bosom. 

"So,"  said  the  assassin,  "in  this  way  I  am  free  of 
France  too." 

As  he  struck  the  unhappy  man  the  latter  reeled 
back  three  paces  and  then  fell  prone  in  the  full  blaze 
of  the  moonlight,  while  the  murderer,  with  a  hurried 
glance  round,  prepared  to  skulk  away  in  the  deep 
shadow  thrown  by  the  cathedral  walls  on  a  side  street. 
Yet,  as  though  the  horror  of  the  deed  he  had  done 
were  not  enough  for  him  to  carry  away,  he  knew  that 
it  had  been  observed. 

As  he  turned  to  fly,  he  saw  looking  at  him  from  a 


^8  DENOUNCED. 

window  in  a  darkened  room  the  white  face  of  a 
woman  distorted  with  terror;  a  face  from  which  the 
eyes  seemed  starting.  And,  as  he  crept  by  the  but- 
tress in  the  shadow,  he  also  saw  her  raise  her  finger 
and  point  as  though  denouncing  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

GASCONISM. 

THE  summer  waned,  the  autumn  came,  and  poor, 
gentle  Douglas  lay  in  his  grave,  but  still  his  murderer 
had  never  been  discovered. 

Yet  in  connection  with  that  murderer,  or  rather  in 
connection  with  the  murder  itself,  some  extraordinary 
facts  had  been  forthcoming  which,  after  all,  but  served 
to  surround  it  more  and  more  with  mystery.  These 
you  shall  hear. 

When  that  white-faced  woman,  whose  threatening 
finger  had  pointed  at  the  assassin  as  he  fled,  recovered 
from  her  horror — she  was  but  a  poor  concierge  who 
had  happened  to  be  seeking  her  bed — she  rushed  forth 
into  the  open  place  where  Douglas's  body  lay,  and 
there,  with  wild  and  piercing  shrieks,  awakened  all 
who  dwelt  round  the  cathedral.  At  first  she  conveyed 
to  those  who  hurried  to  the  spot  the  idea  that  it  was 
she  who  was  the  shedder  of  blood,  for,  as  she  threw 
herself  down  by  the  victim's  side  to  see  if  any  spark 
of  life  remained,  her  own  white  night  garments  be- 
came stained  with  the  dreadful  fluid,  so  that  those 
hurrying  to  the  scene  imagined  that  they  saw  a  guilty 
woman  screaming  over  her  own  evil  deed. 

But  as  she  grew  more  composed  she  was  able  to 
tell  her  tale  coherently ;  to  relate  how,  in  curiosity, 
she  had  stood  watching  those  two  conversing  there ; 

179 


DENOUNCED. 

how  she  had  seen  the  blow  struck,  and  the  murderer 
flee  into  the  darkness.  She  was  very  poor,  she  said, 
every  sou  was  worth  taking  account  of ;  therefore,  on 
moonlight  nights,  she  sought  her  bed  without  candle- 
light. Yet  now  she  bemoaned  her  thrift,  for  had  she 
but  burnt  a  light  it  might  have  alarmed  the  assassin — 
have  saved  the  unhappy  victim. 

"But  mort  de  ma  vie !  "  exclaimed  the  chief  of  the 
watch,  who  by  this  time  had  arrived  with  two  or  three 
of  his  subordinates,  "  why  not  rush  out  and  follow  the 
man ;  why  not  at  least  open  the  window  and  scream  ? 
Peste !  you  women  can  do  that  if  a  mouse  scampers 
across  the  floor  or  your  husband  reproves  you,  yet, 
behold!  when  a  man  is  done  to  death  you  hold  your 
tongue." 

The  poor  affrighted  creature,  still  whimpering  and 
shivering,  explained  that  she  had  no  thought  of  mur- 
der being  about  to  be  done;  she  had  supposed  they 
were  two  friends  parting  for  the  night ;  there  was  no 
sign  of  argument  or  quarrel,  and,  when  the  deed  was 
done,  she  thought  she  had  swooned  for  a  moment  or 
so.  She  could  say  no  more. 

"Peste!  "  again  exclaimed  the  chief  of  the  watch — 
a  tetchy  man  given  to  examining  all  kinds  of  charac- 
ters from  midnight  revellers  and  wassailers  to  house- 
breakers and  worse,  "  why  not  do  something  better 
than  swoon  ?  And  I'll  be  sworn,  too,  that  you  would 
not  know  the  fellow  again  even  though  he  came  back 
this  instant  itself." 

But  to  this  the  woman  protested  her  dissent.  She 
would  know  him  again  anywhere,  at  once  or  at  a  long 
interval,  adding  with  a  shudder  that  "for  ever  and  as 
long  as  she  should  live,  his  features  were  stamped  into 
her  memory." 


GASCONISM.  jgi 

"  What  was  he  like,  then  ? "  asked  the  chief,  "  how 
clad?" 

"  Fairly  tall,"  she  replied,  "  though  not  so  tall,  I 
think,  as  that"  and  she  glanced  at  poor  Douglas's 
body  lying  in  the  centre  of  the  crowd  that  surrounded 
it.  The  chief  of  the  watch,  and  a  doctor  who  had 
come  from  out  a  house  near,  had  examined  it  at  once 
on  their  arrival,  and,  alas !  there  was  no  life  left  in  it. 
The  gentle  spirit  had  flown. 

"  Also,"  she  went  on,  "  the  assassin  was  very  dark, 
his  eyes  of  a  piercing  nature,  his  face  white  as  a 
corpse — as  that"  and  again  she  glanced  at  the  dead 
man ;  "  but  the  whiteness  might  be  from  horror,  mon 
Dieu  !  it  was  a  terrible  face,  the  face  of  a  devil,  terror- 
stricken  ;  the  face  of  a  fiend.  But  no  remorse,  oh, 
no!  only  fear — it  might  be  of  himself." 

"And  his  clothes?"  asked  the  chief.  "What  of 
them  ? " 

"  Sombre,  dark.  All  dark.  Scarce  any  lace  at 
sleeves  or  breast,  neither  aigrette  nor  cockade,  nor 
galloon  to  his  hat;  no  sword." 

"  Not  a  bully,  then,  nor  filou  ?  No  appearance  of  a 
knight  of  the  road  ?  Hein  ? " 

"  No,"  the  woman  replied,  "  no."  Then,  reflect- 
ively, she  said,  "It  was,  I  think,  no  murder  for  gain 
nor  greed.  Nay,  could  not  have  been.  He  stooped 
not,  went  not  near  the— the  body  after  it  fell.  More 
like,  I  think,  a  deed  of  hate,  of  bitter,  hot  rage.  Who 
knows  ?  Perhaps  a  wife  stolen,  a  daughter  wronged. 
All  is  possible.  For  see,  it"  and  again  she  glanced 
down,  "  was  young,  and— and,  mon  Dieu,  il  etait  beau .'" 

So  they  all  said  who  gazed  upon  the  handsome 
features  now  setting  rigidly  in  the  blaze  of  the  moon. 
"II  etait  beau" 


jg2  DENOUNCED. 

"Well,"  said  the  chief,  "we  must  not  stay  here. 
He  must  be  removed.  Meanwhile,  I  must  to  the 
officers  of  the  guard;  none  must  pass  the  gates  at 
daybreak  except  under  strict  scrutiny.  And  the  body 
must  be  searched  to  see  if  we  can  gather  who  and 
what  he  is.  Alas!  alas!  The  woman  speaks  well. 
He  was  handsome." 

But  now  an  exclamation  arose  from  the  crowd, 
while  one  or  two  stooped  hurriedly  to  the  earth,  and 
the  first  picked  up  something  that,  as  he  held  it  out, 
glistened  in  his  hand.  It  was  an  unset  stone,  a 
ruby. 

"  Tiens"  said  the  chief,  turning  it  over  in  his  hand, 
"  what's  this  ?  A  ruby,  and  unset,"  he  repeated.  Then 
meditatively,  "  It  may  have  fallen  from  a  setting  worn 
by  one  or  other,  victim  or  murderer — from,  say,  a  ring, 
a  collar,  a  brooch  for  cravat,  or  ruffle.  Has  he  upon 
his  body,"  he  said  to  his  attendant,  "any  setting  to 
which  it  might  by  chance  belong  ? " 

The  man  bent  down  and  inspected  poor  Douglas's 
form,  then  he  rose  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Neither  ring  nor  chain  that  I  can  see.  Nought 
that  is  likely  to  have  held  such  as  that  stone." 

"  Humph  !  "  mused  the  chief,  "  humph !  "  Then  he 
whispered  to  himself,  "  If  anyone  pass  the  gate  to- 
morrow with  an  unfilled  setting — bah!  Non!  non! 
non!  He  that  has  the  setting  belonging  to  the  ruby 
will  scarcely  show  it.  Yet,  that  the  murderer  owns  it 
is  most  likely.  If  it  had  been  lost  by  anyone  who 
has  lately  worshipped  here,"  and  he  glanced  up  at 
the  cathedral  over  which  the  daffodil  dawn  was  coming 
now  from  the  east,  "  there  would  have  been  hue  and 
cry  enough.  Allans"  he  said  aloud.  "  To  the  watch 
house.  And,  bonne  femme,  come  you  with  us  to  testify." 


GASCONISM. 


183 

Then,  turning  to  his  underlings,  he  said,  "  Bring  him 
with  you — find  a  plank  or  door.  And — and — be  gentle 
with  him.  Pauvre  gar  {on  !  Has  he  a  mother,  I  won- 
der ? " 

For  three  or  four  days  the  search  went  on,  those 
whom  he  had  loved  so  aiding  it  in  every  way.  Archi- 
bald, stern,  silent,  inwardly  crushed  ;  Bertie  mad  with 
grief  and  despair  ;  Kate  broken-hearted.  The  lower 
parts  of  the  city  were  ransacked  and  received  visits 
from  the  watch  and  the  exempts,  but  nothing  came  of 
it  except  great  discomfort  to  the  denizens  thereof. 
Nothing !  And — which  perhaps  was  not  strange — never 
to  one  of  those  who  had  so  loved  him  came  the  veriest 
shadow  of  a  thought  as  to  who  the  murderer  was.  It 
was  not  possible,  indeed,  that  such  a  thought  should 
come.  He,  they  imagined— if  ever  in  their  sorrow 
they  let  his  foul  memory  enter  their  mind — was  in 
England.  No,  they  never  dreamt  of  him.  They  be- 
gan, therefore,  at  last  to  think,  as  all  the  world  which 
went  to  make  up  Amiens  thought,  that  some  of  the  out- 
casts, the  thieves  and  scoundrels  who  had  visited  the 
city  at  fair-time,  had  taken  his  bright  young  life.  Yet, 
strange  to  say,  if  such  were  the  case,  he  had  not  been 
robbed.  His  pocketbook  was  on  him,  his  purse  un- 
touched. There  was  little  enough  in  either,  it  was 
true,  yet,  the  night-birds  would  have  had  them  had 
they  been  his  slayers  ! 

Then,  at  last,  it  seemed  that  the  murderers  were 

caught. 

There  rode  up  to  the  south  gate,  on  the  fifth  day, 
a  sergeant  and  three  troopers  of  the   Regiment 
Picardy,  and  with  them  they  had-bound  with  rope; 
—two  villainous-looking  scoundrels,  fellows  in  stair 
and  tawdry  riding  coats,  with  brandy-inflamed  faces, 


!S4  DENOUNCED. 

one  having  a  broken  leg,  so  that  as  he  sat  on  his 
horse  he  groaned  with  every  movement  it  made. 

The  sergeant's  story  was  brief  and  soon  told  to  the 
captain  of  the  guard,  while  Bertie  Elphinston,  sum- 
moned to  hear  it,  stood  by  hollow-eyed  and  sad,  won- 
dering if  he  was  to  learn  that  in  these  swashbucklers 
he  saw  the  assassins  of  his  poor  friend. 

'•'•Monsieur  le  capitaine"  said  the  sergeant,  "by  or- 
ders received  from  you  we  have  scoured  the  roads  for 
the  last  few  days.  Then,  last  night,  we  put  up  at  the 
Dragon  Volant,  outside  of  Poix,  and  here  we  found 
these  two  larrons.  This  one — this  creature  here — who 
calls  himself  Jacques  Potin,  was  abed  with  his  broken 
leg,  his  horse  having  thrown  him ;  the  other  one,  who 
names  himself  Adolphe  d'Aunay,  was  nursing  him. 
Ma  foil  a  strange  patient  and  a  strange  nursing. 
From  the  room  they  occupied  came  forth  howlings  and 
singings  and  songs  of  the  vilest,  mixed  with  oaths  and 
laughter  sufficient  to  have  awakened  their  grand- 
fathers in  their  prison  graves.  'Twas  this  drew  my 
attention  to  them,  Monsieur  le  capitaine.  Passing  their 
door,  attracted  by  their  roars  and  singings,  I  was  also 
led  to  stop  and  listen,  because,  the  uproar  over,  I  next 
heard  this  conversation :  '  Curse  you  and  your  leg 
too!'  said  he  who  calls  himself  D'Aunay;  'if  'twere 
not  for  your  accident  we  should  have  been  in  Paris 
now,  safe  and  free  with  our  prize  disposed  of.  Your 
drunkenness,  whereby  you  got  your  fall,  has  ruined 
all.'  '  Man  petit  chouxj  said  the  other,  '  bemoan  not ; 
here  we  are  snug  and  comfortable.  Our  logement  is 
good,  the  food  of  the  best,  the  wine  of  the  most 
superior.  What  would  you  more  ?  And  we  have  the 
jewels,  which  are  a  small  fortune,  and  the  money — 
bonnes  pieces  fortes  et  trebuchantes — for  our  immediate 


GASCONISM. 


I85 


wherewithal.  As  for  the  bills  and  bonds — well,  we 
have  destroyed  them,  so  they  can  tell  no  tales.  Mon 
enfant,  be  gay.' 

"  Upon  this,"  went  on  the  sergeant,  "  I  arrested 
them  and  found  these." 

Whereupon  the  man  produced  from  his  pockets 
numerous  gold  coins,  French  and  English,  Louis  d'ors 
and  double  Louis  d'ors,  some  gold  quadruple  pis- 
toles, and  a  handful  of  English  guineas.  And  also  he 
brought  forth,  wrapped  in  a  filthy  handkerchief,  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  pieces  of  jewellery  containing 
superb  precious  stones.  There  were  two  necklaces, 
innumerable  rings  and  bracelets,  and  a  woman's  tiara 
of  rubies  and  diamonds.  And  from  this  latter — the 
rubies  and  diamonds  being  set  alternately — one  of  the 
former  was  missing. 

"  Alas !  "  said  Bertie  aside  to  his  brother  captain, 
"  that  proves  nothing  as  regards  my  poor  friend.  He 
possessed  no  jewels,  nor,  in  the  world,  one-half  of  that 
money.  He  had  nought  but  his  pay  and  a  little 
allowed  him  by  the  Scot's  Fund.  These  men  may  be 
his  murderers,  but  all  this  is  the  result  of  another  rob- 
bery— perhaps  another  murder." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  captain  of  the  guard,  "we 
will  hear  their  story.  Observe,  a  stone  is  missing 
from  the  tiara,  and  such  a  stone  was  found  where  your 
friend  was  slain."  Then  turning  to  the  two  fellows 
before  them,  he  said  curtly,  "  Now,  your  account  of 
yourselves.  And  explain  your  possession  of  all  this," 
and  he  swept  his  hand  over  the  plain  guard-room 
table,  whereupon  the  money  and  the  jewellery  had 
been  temporarily  placed. 

"  Explain !  "  exclaimed  the  man  who  was  called 
D'Aunay  and  who  appeared  to  be  the  boldest  of  the 


DENOUNCED. 

two — while  he  regarded  the  captain  with  an  assumed 
air  of  fierceness  and  disdain.  "  Explain  !  What  shall 
I  explain?  That  we  are  two  gentlemen  of  Gascony." 

"  Sans  doute"  the  captain  muttered  under  his  teeth. 

"  Out,  monsieur,  sans  doute"  repeated  the  fellow, 
who  had  overheard  his  whisper.  "  Of  Gascony,  I  re- 
peat. From  Tarbes,  and  resident  at  Paris." 

"  Amiens  scarcely  lies  on  the  route  between  those 
places,"  the  captain  remarked  quietly. 

"  Permit  that  I  make  myself  clear.  We  had  been 
to  your  great  fair  in  this  fine  city,  and,  by  St.-  Firmin, 
had  much  enjoyed  ourselves  and  were  riding  back  to 
Paris  when,  by  great  misfortune,  my  friend,  who  suf- 
fers much  from  a  painful  and  distracting  vertigo,  fell 
from  his  horse.  Naturally,  I  remained  to  solace  and 
console  him,  and  'twas  there  that  your  sergeant — who, 
you  will  pardon  me  for  saying,  p'ossesses  not  manners 
of  the  highest  refinement  and  appears  to  combine  the 
calling  of  a  mouchard  with  that  of  a  soldier — burst  in 
upon  our  privacy,  and  has  added  to  his  insults  by 
dragging  us  back  here." 

"You  have  your  papers,  doubtless?"  the  captain 
asked. 

"  Doubtless — at  Paris.     They  are  there." 

"Is  it  usual  for  gentlemen  of — of  Gascony  to 
travel  with  such  jewellery  and  gems  as  these?" 

"Monsieur  le  capitaine"  said  the  man  named 
D'Aunay,  "you  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  it  is  usual 
for  gentlemen  of  Gascony  to  do  precisely  whatever  it 
seems  best  to  them.  At  the  same  time  they  are  re- 
specters most  profound  of  the  law.  Therefore,  mon- 
sieur, if  you  have  had  any  complaint  of  jewellery 
stolen,  I  am  willing  to  give  a  more  full  account  of  that 
which  is  in  our  possession." 


GASCONISM. 


I87 


He  was  a  bold  villain — yet,  perhaps,  more  of  a 
crafty  one.  On  the  road  from  Paris  to  Amiens  his 
sharpness  had  gathered  something  from  the  troopers, 
chatting  among  themselves,  of  what  they  were  being 
brought  back  for,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  for  murder, 
and  not  robbery,  that  they  were  wanted.  Therefore, 
being  innocent  of  the  former,  he  brazened  it  out  as 
regards  the  latter,  though  all  the  while  thinking  that 
there  was,  probably,  as  great  a  hue  and  cry  after  those 
who  had  robbed  the  man  near  the  cathedral  as  those 
who  had  murdered  the  other  one. 

That  the  captain  of  the  guard  was  nonplussed  his 
equally  sharp  eyes  saw  at  once ;  and  he  drew  himself 
up  a  little  more  to  his  full  height  and  regarded  the 
other  with  a  still  more  assured  air  of  haughty  disdain. 
However,  the  captain  went  on  : 

"  There  was  a  murder  committed  five  nights  ago  in 
the  Place  de  la  Cathedrale " 

" Nom  d'un  chien!"  interrupted  D'Aunay,  "is  it 
murder  we  are  accused  of  next  ?  Excellent !  Go  on, 
monsieur.  There  are  still  other  crimes  in  the  deca- 
logue." 

"  No,  you  are  not  accused  of  it.  But  circumstances 
require  explanation.  First  to  me,  afterwards,  perhaps, 
to  the  law.  One  circumstance  is  that  in  your  jewel- 
lery," and  he  emphasised  the  "  your  "  very  strongly, 
"  there  is  a  stone,  a  ruby,  missing  from  the  tiara. 
Now " 

"It  is  found  ?"  exclaimed  the  cunning  vagabond, 
with  an  admirable  assumption  of  gladness.  "  Ha ! 
that  is  well,  monsieur  ;  these  are  joyous  tidings.  That 
tiara  was  my  mother's,  La  Marquise  d'Aunay.  I  am 
indeed  thankful." 

"  It  was  found  on  the  spot  where  the  murder  took 
13 


jgg  DENOUNCED. 

place — the  spot  where  the  victim's  body  was  also 
found." 

"  Vraiment !  And  that  spot  was ?"  he  asked, 

with  still  greater  coolness. 

"I  shall  not  tell  you.  Indeed,  it  would  be  best 
for  you  to  say  what  spots  you  were  in  on  that  night." 

"  On  that  night ;  monsieur  speaks  of  which  night  ? " 

"  The  28th.     The  last  night  of  the  fair." 

"  The  28th !  J  acques,  man  ami"  to  his  friend, 
"  correct  me  if  I  forget  to  mention  any  place  we  vis- 
ited. Vonons.  We  supped  at  nine — tiens,  the  pate  de 
canard  was  excellent ;  we  must  instruct  our  cook  in 
Paris  to  attempt  one.  Then  we  visited  the  theatre,  a 
vile  representation  of  '  Les  Pr&ieuses,'  I  assure  you, 
monsieur.  Next,  because  in  Gascony  we  never  forget, 
amidst  all  our  troubles  of  after  years,  our  early  reli- 
gious instruction,  we  decided  to  attend  the  evening 
service  at  La  Cathedrale ;  there  was  a  large  and  rev- 
erent crowd,  monsieur " 

"Dame!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  turning  to  Bertie; 
"I  can  do  nothing  with  the  fellow."  Then,  re-address- 
ing D'Aunay,  he  said : 

"  I  have  finished  with  you,  sir.  Your  next  exami- 
nation will  be  before  the  Procureur  du  Roi,"  and  he 
ordered  the  two  "  gentlemen  of  Gascony  "  to  be  con- 
fined in  the  guard-house  until  that  official  should  in- 
terrogate them,. 

Yet  they  were  too  much  even  for  this  astute  old 
lawyer,  who  had  learned  his  craft  in  Paris  in  the  Law 
Courts  of  the  Grand  Monarch,  as  they  had  learned 
theirs  in  half  the  gaols  of  France. 

D'Aunay  insisted  first  on  knowing  who  charged 
them  with  having  stolen  the  jewellery;  where  the  per- 
son was  who  had  lost  it  or  had  it  stolen ;  and  if  the 


GASCONISM.  l8 

unhappy  young  man  who  had  been  so  monstrously  and 
cruelly  done  to  death  was  known,  or  even  supposed, 
to  have  been  possessed  of  any  similar  jewellery  ? 
Having  achieved  victory  over  the  Procureur  in  this 
respect,  in  the  doing  of  which  he  exhibited  such  virtu- 
ous indignation,  accompanied  by  strange  exclamations 
and  shrugs  and  hangings  of  the  bench  in  front  of  him, 
as  to  nearly  terrify  the  representative  of  the  law  into 
releasing  him,  he  began  on  a  new  tack. 

"Summon  the  good  woman,"  he  exclaimed,  "who 
saw  the  murder  done.  By  St.  Firmin,  if  she  says  one 
of  us  is  the  man,  then  to  the  wheel  with  us !  Also  call 
the  watch  at  the  southern  gate;  if  he  in  turn  says  that 
we  did  not  pass  through  ere  midnight — I  hear  the  ex- 
cellent female  places  the  assassination  after  the  first 
quarter  past  the  hour  had  struck — then,  I  say,  to  the 
wheel  with  us !  Sacrt  nom  d'un  chien  !  were  ever  gen- 
tlemen treated  thus  before  ?  Sacrj  mille  tonnerres,  is 
this  France  in  which  we  are  ?  " 

The  woman  was  summoned,  and  instantly  replied, 
"No,  neither  of  the  messieurs  before  her  was  the  man. 
No  resemblance  whatever.  She  was  certain.  That 
face  she  could  never  forget.  It  was  a  devil's.  On  her 
most  sacred  oath,  neither  were  concerned  in  the  awful 
scene." 

The  watchmen  at  the  gate  affirmed  that  both  men 
passed  out  before  midnight  struck — the  hour  for  the 
gate  to  close  on  /^-days.  There  was  no  possibility 
of  his  being  mistaken— one,  the  big  man,  swore  at  him 
for  having  half  closed  the  gate,  thinking  the  last  per- 
son had  gone  through  for  that  night ;  the  other  in- 
sulted him  and  jeered  at  him,  and  flung  a  sou  at  his  feet. 

"So,"  said  the  old  Procureur  du  Roi,  "you  seem 
free  of  this  crime.  Yet,  I  misdoubt  me  but  you  are 


DENOUNCED. 

the  lawful  prey  of  the  gibbet.  The  sergeant  heard 
you  speaking  of  your  plunder.  That  you  have  stolen 
the  jewellery  no  one  can  doubt " 

"  Produce  the  owner,"  interrupted  D'Aunay,  on 
whom  a  clear  light  had  now  dawned.  "  We  ask  noth- 
ing but  that." 

"  Also  you  swear  by  St.  Firmin.  He  is  a  saint  of 
Picardy,  not  of  the  south. of  France." 

"  It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not  swear  by  him. 
In  the  few  hours  we  were  here  we  heard  everyone  we 
met  swear  terribly  by  him.  He  must,  indeed,  be  a 
saint  of  Picardy — surtout  of  Amiens." 

"  Also,"  went  on  the  judge,  "  you  spoke  truth  when 
you  said  you  had  been  to  the  theatre  and  to  the  Ca- 
thedral  " 

"  Naturally,  monsieur.  It  is  ever  my  habit.  To 
shun  the  truth  is  impossible  to  me." 

"  But  your  actions  were  suspicious.  Both  at  the 
theatre  and  the  cathedral  you  were  observed  to  place 
yourselves,  to  force  yourselves,  nearest  to  those  who 
presented  the  appearance  of  greatest  wealth " 

"  Finissons  /"  roared  D'Aunay  now  in  virtuous  in- 
dignation. "  Enough.  Produce  more  tangible  reasons 
for  this  detention,  these  insults,  or  release  us.  Your 
charges  have  all  fallen  to  the  ground ;  you  now  begin 
a  fresh  one  equally  baseless.  Yet,  because  I  love  jus- 
tice and  respect  the  law — its  administrators  I  cannot 
always  respect — if  anyone  has  been  robbed  at  either 
theatre  or  church,  bring  them  forward,  and  we  will 
meet  that  charge  too." 

"You  will  be  released,"  said  the  Procureur;  "you 
are  now  free.  But  the  jewellery  will  be  retained  for 
the  present.  Later  on  it  may  be  returned  to  you." 

So,  not  without   many  protestations,  the   fellows 


GASCONISM.  j^! 

went  away  from  Amiens,  D'Aunay  breathing  maledic- 
tions against  the  barbarous  laws  which  permitted  hon- 
est gentlemen  to  be  arrested  and  their  property  con- 
fiscated. Yet,  he  swore,  the  end  was  not  yet  arrived 
at ;  when  they  reached  Paris  they  would  soon  set  the 
highest  legal  authorities  at  work.  Also  he  edified  the 
good  people  of  Amiens  by  the  tenderness  and  care 
with  which  he  assisted  his  suffering  friend  to  mount 
his  horse. 

Later  in  that  day  they  halted  for  an  evening  meal 
on  the  cool  grass  at  the  wayside,  and,  as  D'Aunay 
helped  his  comrade  from  his  wallet,  he  said : 

"  Jacques,  mon  ami,  observe  always  the  advantage 
of  truth.  Had  I  not  mentioned  our  visit  to  the  cathe- 
dral in  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening  that  cursed  ruby 
would  almost  have  sunk  us."  Then  he  wagged  his 
head  and  took  a  drink  of  wine. 

"  Yet,"  he  continued,  "  I  understand  it  not.  Let  us 
consider.  We  took  the  plunder  close  by  the  cathedral. 
In  front  of  the  cathedral  that  other  one  was  slain. 
None  claim  the  jewels— -peste !  'tis  hard  to  lose  them. 
What  do  you  make  of  it  ? " 

"  A  fool  can  see,"  replied  Jacques,  as  he  shifted  his 
wounded  leg  into  an  easier  position.  "  Any  fool  can 
see  that.  It  was  our  friend  who " 

"Precisely,"  said  D'Aunay.  "Precisely.  Aliens! 
To  Paris." 

"  And  the  ruby  fell  out  when  we  were  examining 
the  spoil !  " 

"  Again,  precisely.  And  remember,  Jacques,  that 
if  we  ever  meet  our  friend  who  once  owned  the  jewels 
it  would  be  worth  while  attacking  him.  Also,  above 
all,  Jacques,  remember  the  truth  is  best.  Allans  !  To 
Paris ! " 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

"WHAT  FACE  THAT  HAUNTS  ME?" 

AFTER  that  all  hope  was  given  up  of  discovering 
who  had  murdered  Douglas.  From  the  first,  from  the 
moment  Bertie  saw  the  jewels  taken  from  the  two 
vagabonds  by  the  sergeant,  he  felt  that  neither  of 
them  were  the  culprits.  Yet,  all  asked  each  other 
whenever  they  met,  "  If  not  these  scoundrels,  who 
then  ?" 

"  He  had  no  enemy  in  France,  in  the  world,"  said 
Bertie,  as  they  sat  one  night  in  the  lodgings  which 
Kate  had  hired  for  her  father  and  herself.  "  Why, 
why  should  any  creature  have  taken  his  life  ?  In  his 
regiment  he  was  most  popular — nay,  beloved.  Oh ! 
oh!  I  cannot  understand  it." 

And  now,  since,  as  has  been  said,  the  summer  was 
waning — for  Douglas  had  been  dead  three  months 
when  they  talked  thus — their  little  circle  was  about  to 
be  broken  up  once  more.  One  was  gone  for  ever, 
they  said  in  whispered  tones,  he  could  never  come 
back ;  could  those  who  still  remained  be  once  more 
united  after  they  separated  at  Amiens  ? 

Bertie,  with  his  troop  and  one  other  of  the  Regi- 
ment of  Picardy,  was  to  proceed  to  St.  Denis;  Kate 
and  her  father  were  to  go  to  Paris ;  Archibald  was  to 
remain  behind  at  Amiens. 

Over  the  latter  a  great  change  had  'come  since  his 
192 


"WHAT   FACE   THAT   HAUNTS  ME?"          ,g3 

brother's  death.  He  had  always  been  a  quiet  and  re- 
served man — perhaps  from  the  very  nature  of  his  call- 
ing— one  who  never  said  more  than  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  any  person  on  any  subject;  now  he 
seemed  to  have  retired  entirely  within  himself  and  to 
have  but  two  things  in  this  world  to  which  his  life  was 
devoted :  his  Faith,  and  his  determination  to  find  the 
murderer  of  Douglas. 

"  And,"  he  said  to  Bertie,  "  I  shall  do  it.  Have  no 
fear  of  that.  I  shall  do  it.  I  have  now  an  idea — 
though  an  idea  of  so  strange,  so  extraordinary  a 
nature,  that  I  hardly  dare  to  let  myself  believe  that  it 
can  ever  take  a  tangible  shape." 

"  And  may  I,  may  Kate,  know  nothing  of  that  idea  ? 
Remember  how  we  both  loved  him." 

"  No,"  Sholto  replied.  "  No.  It  may  come  to 
nothing — must,  it  almost  seems  certain,  come  to 
nothing.  Yet,  if  the  secret  can  be  unravelled,  I  will 
find  the  way  to  do  it.  Then,  when  I  am  sure,  if  ever 
I  am,  you  shall  know  all.  Nay,  you  will  most  as- 
suredly know  all." 

"Will  you  tell  us — tell  me — no  more  than  this ?" 
asked  Bertie. 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing.  It  is  possible  I  may  be 
mistaken  ;  more  than  possible.  If  I  am  not,  then  you 
will  know." 

And  with  this  the  other  had  to  be  content,  and 
to  prepare  to  proceed  to  his  new  quarters  outside 
Paris. 

The  Jesuit's  idea  was,  indeed,  one  about  which  he 
might  well  say  that  he  could  not  believe  it  should  ever 
assume  a  tangible  shape.  It  was  nothing  else  than 
that  he  believed  he  had  seen  those  jewels— especially 
that  tiara-r-before. 


194 


DENOUNCED. 


He  had  examined  them  many  times  since  they  had 
been  taken  away  from  D'Aunay  and  his  companion 
and  kept  in  the  custody  of  the  Mayor  of  Amiens — had 
turned  them  over  and  over  in  his  hands;  scrutinised 
the  settings  to  see  if  he  could  observe  any  mark  or 
inscription  upon  them.  But  there  was  nothing — no 
coronet  engraved  inside  the  tiara  with  a  name,  or  ini- 
tials, such  as  might  well  have  been  looked  for  in  such 
costly  gewgaws — nothing !  Yet  the  tiara  forced  itself 
upon  his  memory,  seemed  to  be  a  thing  he  had  seen 
before — worn  upon  a  woman's  head  at  some  great 
ceremony.  Especially  he  seemed  to  remember  one 
diamond  to  the  extreme  left  of  the  diadem,  a  yellow, 
light  brown  stone  that  had  flashed  out  a  different 
light  from  its  fellows  beneath  the  gleams  of  many- 
lustred  candelabras.  But  where  ?  Where  ?  Where  ? 

"Almost,"  he  whispered  to  himself,"!  seem  to  see, 
as  through  a  mist,  the  head,  the  face  that  was  beneath 
it.  Dark  hair,  grizzled  grey  ;  pale  olive  complexion  ; 
lines  of  care.  Who  was  it  ?  Who  ?  If  I  could  remem- 
ber that." 

At  night  as  he  lay  upon  his  truckle  bed,  or  as  he 
walked  by  the  banks  of  the  Somme,  or  held  the  jewels 
in  his  hands — for  more  than  once  he  went  to  see  them 
— he  mused  on  all  this.  Nay,  when  the  memory  of  his 
beloved  brother  and  his  cruel  death  was  more  than 
usually  strong  upon  him,  he  would  ponder  upon  the 
idea  that  was  ever  in  his  mind  as  he  stood  at  night, 
solitary  and  alone,  in  the  Place  de  la  Cathe"drale  be- 
fore the  great  west  door,  and  on  the  very  spot  where 
his  loved  one  had  fallen.  But  still  memory  failed  him, 
or,  as  he  came  near  believing  now,  he  was  the  sport  of 
a  delusion. 

Practised  by  long  training  in  every  mental  art,  he 


"WHAT   FACE   THAT   HAUNTS   ME?"  Igt 

took  next  to  recalling  each  scene  of  splendour — for  in 
some  such  scene  it  was,  he  felt  sure,  that  he  had  seen 
that  gleaming  hoop  worn,  if  he  had  ever  seen  it  at  all 
— in  which  he  had  ever  taken  part  from  the  time  he 
had  been  ordained  a  priest,  from  the  time  when,  an 
ardent  enthusiast  of  the  Stuart  cause,  he  had  mixed  in 
the  great  court  circles.  Scenes  at  Versailles,  at  Marly 
and  Vincennes,  St.  Germain  and  Fontainebleau — for 
he  had  been  amidst  them  all — were  recalled  carefully, 
yet  still  the  phantom  of  the  dark-haired  woman  with 
the  threads  of  grey  running  through  that  hair  evaded 
him.  He  had  known  so  many  such,  he  told  himself, 
wearily ;  had  seen  so  many  women  to  whom  jewels  and 
adornments  were  the  natural  accompaniments,  that, 
perhaps,  it  was  not  strange  he  should  forget.  Also, 
he  reflected,  how  easy  for  him,  who  had  seen  countless 
jewelled  head-dresses  worn,  to  imagine  that  he  re- 
membered this  particular  one  ! 

Yet  he  could  swear  he  remembered  that  yellow, 
brown  diamond  ! 

Tortured  thus  by  his  struggles  with  the  dim  shad- 
ows of  his  memory,  he  bade  farewell  to  the  others  as 
they  departed,  and  left  him  alone  in  the  city  so  bitterly 
dear  to  him. 

"Farewell,  Kate,"  he  said,  " farewell.  God  bless 
you  !  You  are  separated,  as  I  think,  for  ever  from  a 
man  utterly  unworthy  of  you ;  yet  you  have  still  the 
consolation  of  being  without  dishonour— ay,  without 
speck  or  blemish.  He  will  never  trouble  you  again,  I 
do  believe.  Let  him,  therefore,  go  his  evil  way,  and 
go  you  yours  in  peace  and  happiness.  I  would  that  ] 
could  see  a  way  to  your  obtaining  the  one  happiness 
that  should  belong  to  you ;  wish  it  for  your  sake  and 
Bertie's.  But  it  cannot  be.  Not  yet,  at  least.  There- 


196 


DENOUNCED. 


fore  bear  up.  Heaven  in  its  mercy  will,  I  know,  pro- 
tect and  prosper  you." 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,  Archie,"  Kate  replied,  as  she 
sobbed  unrestrainedly.  "  Oh,  how  unhappy  we  are ! 
We  looked  forward  to  so  much  in  this  meeting  here, 
and  see — see  how  it  has  ended !  Shall  we  ever  be 
happy  again  ? " 

"  In  Heaven's  mercy,"  he  said,  "  in  Heaven's  mercy." 
Then  he  kissed  her  on  the  brow,  shook  hands  with  her 
father,  and  went  his  way  back  to  his  gloomy  life,  and 
now  still  more  gloomy  thoughts.  Yet  never  in  those 
thoughts — no,  not  even  though  they  had  sometimes 
spoken  of  the  man  himself — did  it  dawn  upon  him 
that  here  was  the  one  who  might  be  the  murderer  of 
Douglas. 

Bertie  was  already  gone,  the  two  troops  of  the  Regi- 
ment of  Picardy  having  marched  out  a  day  or  so  be- 
fore, the  blare  of  their  trumpets  and  the  clatter  of  the 
horses'  hoofs  having  awakened  the  city  early.  And  he 
had  seen  Kate — dawn  though  it  was — glancing  from 
her  window  to  look  at  him,  to  wave  him  her  fare- 
well. 

"Yet,"  he  had  said  to  her  overnight,  "it  must  not 
be  for  long,  Kitty.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  grow 
nearer  to  one  another  as  trouble  falls — at  least,  there 
can  be  no  assassin's  knife  to  come  between  us.  Kate, 
I  shall  come  and  see  you  as  often  as  I  can  get  leave  to 
visit  Paris ;  even  though  you  are  in  a  King's — a  future 
King's — house,  as  I  still  hope — I  may  come.  Is  it 
not  so  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  you  may  come  always.  Oh, 
Bertie,  we  are  parted  for  ever — our  lives,  our  hopes, 
all — yet  if  I  could  not  sometimes  see  you,  know  that 
you  are  well,  happy — you  will  be  happy,  will  you  not, 


"WHAT   FACE   THAT    HAUNTS   ME?"          m; 

when  this  great  sorrow  is  eased  by  time  ? — I  think  I 
should  die.  Surely  it  cannot  be  wrong,  remembering 
what  we  once  were  to  each  other,  what  we  once  were 
to  have  been,  to  wish  to  know  and  hear  of  you." 

"  What  we  once  were  to  have  been  !  "  he  repeated, 
in  almost  a  whisper.  "To  have  been.  O  Kate! 
O  Kate  !  Those  plans,  those  projects  for  the  future ! " 
His  voice  broke  and  failed  him  as  he  continued  :  "  You 
have  not  forgotten  them !  Kate,  do  you  remember 
how  once  we  pictured  ourselves  growing  old  together, 
how  we  meditated  on  the  time  that  should  come  when, 
our  lives  done  with,  we  should  rest  together  in  some 
calm  and  peaceful  grave  ? " 

"No,"  she  said,  "no,"  and  sprang  to  her  feet  ex- 
citedly. "  No  !  no  !  no  !  I  will  not  remember — will 
recall  nothing,  for  if  I  do  I  shall  go  mad.  Remember 
nothing — 'tis  best  so.  Go,  Bertie  Elphinston,  go  to 
your  duties,  as  I  will  go  to  mine.  Let  us  forget  every- 
thing— except — except "  she  faltered,  changing  in 

a  moment  womanlike — "  that  it  was  I  who  ruined  and 
cursed  both  our  lives." 

He  soothed  her  as  best  he  could,  reproaching  him- 
self for  having  revived  such  memories;  reproaching 
himself,  too,  for  the  silence  that  had  led  to  her  believ- 
ing him  false.  And  once  he  said,  as  he  had  said  in 
England  when  first  they  met  again  : 

"  Mine  was  the  fault,  let  mine  be  the  blame.  Yet, 
unhappily,  both  have  had  to  suffer.  Surely  something 
must  arise  to  end  that  suffering  ere  long." 

He  did  not  know  it,  could  not,  indeed,  know  it ;  yet 
the  end  was  far  off  still.  There  were  more  vigils  of 
sorrow  to  be  kept  by  both,  more  grief  and  pain  to  be 
endured. 

Nor  when  she  said  between  her  tears,  "  If  we  were 


198 


DENOUNCED. 


to  be  parted  again  now,  if  I  should  never  see  your 
face  more,  my  heart  would  break,"  could  she  know 
what  lay  in  front  of  them — black,  dark,  and  low- 
ering. 

Her  future  was  in  a  way  provided  for.  The  Cardi- 
nal Tencin,  in  spite  of  being  somewhat  out  of  favour 
now  and  retired  to  his  archbishopric  of  Lyons — for 
when  a  French  prelate  was  in  disgrace  his  punishment 
was  that  he  should  attend  to  his  diocese  instead  of 
being  in  Paris ! — had  still  entire  influence  over  the  ex- 
iled Stuarts.  Therefore  it  was  to  him  that  Archibald 
Sholto  applied  on  behalf  of  Kate,  and  through  him 
that  she  was  to  be  appointed  to  the  small  court  now 
being  formed  round  Charles  Edward  in  Paris. 

That  unhappy  prince — though  fortunate  in  some 
things,  especially  in  his  escape  from  Scotland  after 
the  rebellion — had  now  landed  at  Roscort,  three 
leagues  west  of  Morlaix,  from  the  "  Bellona,"  of  St. 
Malo,  and  was  safe  once  more  in  Paris.  His  adven- 
tures since  the  defeat  of  Culloden  had  been  truly  mar- 
vellous, and  his  escapes  not  less  so  ;  twice  he  was  in 
danger  of  being  shot,  five  times  in  danger  of  being 
drowned,  nine  times  he  was  pursued  by  men  of  war 
and  armed  vessels  of  King  George,  and  six  times  he 
escaped  being  captured  by  what  seemed  to  be  miracles- 
Also  he  had  been  almost  famished  for  want  of  food 
and  drink,  and  had  had  to  lie  out  on  the  bare  heaths  or 
wild  mountains  and  to  shelter  in  caves. 

Yet  now  he  had  entered  Paris  again,  had  been  gra- 
ciously welcomed  by  the  French  King  and  Queen,  and 
was  in  treaty  for  a  fine  house  in  the  Quartier  St.  Ger- 
main. It  was  to  that  house  that  Kate,  with  her 
father,  was  to  go,  there  to  form  two  of  his  small 
court. 


"WHAT  FACE  THAT   HAUNTS  ME?"          igg 

At  first  when  she  took  up  her  residence  in  it  she 
was  happy.  She  was  among  friends  she  had  known  in 
Paris,  many  of  them  also  comrades  of  Bertie  who  had 
fought  in  the  last  invasion  and  themselves  escaped. 
The  Lords  Ogilvie  and  Elcho  were  there  with  the 
ladies  of  their  family ;  there,  too,  were  old  Lochiel 
and  young  Lord  Lewis  Gordon  ;  the  young  Lochiel 
also,  and  Captain  Stafford,  who  had  lain  long  in  New- 
gate in  irons,  yet  was  now  escaped  and  free. 

Also  she  was  happy  because  Bertie  was  able  to 
come  and  see  her,  and  on  one  occasion,  with  all  the 
othres,  including  herself,  accompanied  the  prince 
when  he  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  Louis  at  Ver- 
sailles. 

"  Faith,  Kate,"  he  whispered  to  her  on  that  even- 
ing, when,  Charles  Edward  being  at  supper  with  the 
royal  family,  they  strolled  together  up  and  down  the 
mirrored  galleries  of  the  palace,  "  'tis  even  better  than 
the  old  days,  were  it  not  that  dear  Douglas  has  left 
us,"  and  he  sighed.  "  But,"  he  went  on,  "  you  are  pro- 
vided for — that,  at  least,  is  well,  or  as  well  as  things 
are  ever  likely  to  be." 

She  said,  "  Yes,  it  is  well,  so  far."  Then  she  con- 
tinued :  •••" 

"  Still,  Bertie,  I  am  unhappy." 

"Unhappy?" 

"  Yes.  Unhappy  because  I  never  know  when  that 
man— my  husband— may  cross  my  path  again.  Oh,  if 
I  could  be  sure  I  should  never  see  him  more!" 

"  At  least  he  can  never  harm  or  annoy  you.  Have 
no  fear  of  that.  Remember,  he  knows  that  Archibald 
and  I  are  in  Paris,  and,  of  course,  believes  that  Doug- 
las is  here  also.  His  dread  of  us  will  keep  him  away. 
He  will  trouble  you  no  more.  And  if  he  should  come 


20O 


DENOUNCED. 


— which  is  of  all  things  most  unlikely — why,  I  shall 
be  near  at  hand  to  shield  and  protect  you." 

"  You  will  always  be  near  me  ? "  she  asked.  "  Al- 
ways now  ?  Oh,  promise,  Bertie ;  promise  me  that  you 
will  never  disappear  again." 

"  Of  course,  I  promise.  Why,  where  should  I  go 
to  ? "  and  he  laughed  as  he  asked.  "  My  life  is  now 
bound  up  with  the  regiment.  Short  of  campaigns 
nothing  can  take  me  far  from  you." 

"  Yet,"  she  replied,  "  I  fear — fear  always.  It  is 
only  when  you  are  near  that  I  feel  safe — feel  that  I 
have  one  who  is  a  brother  to  stand  between  me  and 
harm." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  as  a  brother.  It  can  never  be 
anything  else  than  that  now — yet,  as  a  brother,  I  will 
not  fail  you." 

So  they  went  back  to  Paris  as  they  had  come,  the 
royal  visit  being  over. 

And  then  it  seemed  at  last  as  if,  with  some  few 
changes,  things  were  to  be  almost  as  they  had  once 
been,  though  it  is  true  that,  instead  of  the  old  house 
in  the  Rue  Trousse  Vache,  she  and  her  father  were 
lodged  in  a  mansion  which  was  in  fact  a  palace,  that 
Douglas  was  gone  out  of  their  life  forever,  and  that 
she  was  a  wife  in  name,  though  nothing  else. 

Bertie  came  at  least  once  a  week  to  Paris  from  St. 
Denis,  both  to  pay  his  respects  to  his  prince — as  he 
regarded  always  Charles  Edward — and  also  to  see  her, 
and  brought  her  flowers  from  the  gardens  round  that 
old  town.  But  he  brought  no  news  from  Archibald  as 
to  his  having  been  successful  in  discovering  who  the 
murderer  of  Douglas  was.  The  priest  had,  indeed, 
written  to  them  once  or  twice  from  Amiens,  but  he 
either  refrained  from  mentioning  the  subject  at  all,  or, 


"WHAT   FACE   THAT   HAUNTS   ME?"          2QI 

if  he  did  so,  said  that  he  could  discover  nothing,  and 
that  any  idea  he  might  have  had  on  the  matter  was, 
he  now  feared,  a  futile  one. 

"  I  began  to  also  fear,"  Bertie  said,  as  he  talked 
it  over  with  Kate,  "  that  it  was  indeed  a  futile  one — 
that  never  now  will  he  be  avenged.  Poor  Douglas! 
Who  could  have  desired  his  life — who  have  struck  so 
foul  a  blow  ?" 

"  It  must  have  been,"  she  answered,  "as  we  at  first 
thought,  a  murder  in  the  hope  of  robbery  afterwards." 

"  Or,"  said  Bertie,  "  as  sometimes  I  think  now,  the 
offshoot  of  another — an  undiscovered  murder.  What 
if  those  vagabonds  who  called  themselves  Gascon  gen- 
tlemen had  previously  slain  someone  else  who  was 
possessed  of  all  that  jewellery,  and  Douglas  had  come 
across  them  at  the  time,  and,  in  endeavouring  to  save 
that  other,  was  slain  himself  ? " 

"No,"  she  said,  "no.  That  is  impossible.  No 
other  victim's  body  was  found,  and  there  was  no  place 
where  they  could  have  hidden  it  away,  or,  having  hid- 
den it,  could  not  also  have  disposed  of  his.  Besides, 
remember  :  The  woman— the  concierge— saw  only  one 
other  slay  him,  and  that  other  was  neither  of  the  Gas- 
cons. Nor  was  his  sword  drawn.  No,  we  must  seek 
elsewhere  for  the  solution  of  that  crime." 

Thus  they  talked  it  over  and  over  whenever  they 
met.  Surely  it  was  natural  that  they  should  do  so,  see- 
ing how  much  he  had  been  to  them,  and  how  awful  a 
blow  his  assassination  was,  but  never  did  they  arrive 
at  any  thought  or  idea  of  who  was  the  actual  mur- 
derer. 

And,  as  they  so  discussed  it  day  by  day,  the  autumn 
departed  as  the  summer  had  done,  and  the  winter  was 
almost  upon  them.  Already  the  leaves  lay  in  heaps  at 


202  DENOUNCED. 

the  roots  of  the  trees,  the  swallows  were  all  gone, 
the  nights  were  long  and  dark,  and  Douglas  slept  un- 
avenged in  his  grave.  And  still  the  troubles,  the  griefs 
and  sorrows  of  this  luckless  man  and  woman  were 
not  yet  at  an  end. 

Another  blow  was  still  to  fall  upon  them — it  was 
close  at  hand  now,  though  they  knew  it  not. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"WHICH    WAY    I    FLY    IS    HELL — MYSELF    AM    HELL!" 

IT  was  the  feast  of  St.  Denys,  the  patron  saint  of 
France. 

Over  all  the  land,  from  north  to  south  and  east  to 
west,  the  churches  and  cathedrals  were  crowded  on 
that  day  with  worshippers  bringing  offerings  and  gifts 
to  the  altars,  praying  for  the  saint's  aid  to  be  still 
continued  to  them,  asking  for  pardon  for  past  sins,  for 
prosperity  in  the  future.  On  that  day  the  King  him- 
self went  in  state  to  Notre  Dame,  accompanied  by  his 
brilliant  court.  In  the  provinces,  governors  of  for- 
tresses and  of  departments  did  the  same  thing  at  the 
local  cathedrals;  prisoners  were  released  because  of 
the  anniversary  of  St.  Denys,  while  some  of  the  worst 
among  them  were  executed — both  as  an  example,  and 
because  it  was  the  great  /^-day  and  a  holiday  when 
other  people  required  to  be  amused. 

In  Amiens,  as  in  all  the  other  cities  boasting  a 
beautiful  cathedral  and  possessed  of  a  strong  religious 
element,  it  was  the  same  as  elsewhere.  From  morn- 
ing until  night  the  bells  clanged  at  intervals  from 
the  towers  of  Notre  Dame  and  the  fourteen  parish 
churches ;  processions  innumerable  took  place,  masses 
of  all  kinds— Capitular,  Conventual,  Missa  Cantata, 
Missa  Fidelium,  Mass  High  and  Low— were  said  and 
14  203 


204 


DENOUNCED. 


sung,  accompanied  by  Kyrie,  Gloria,  and  Credo,  by 
Sanctus,  Benedictus,  and  Agnus  Dei. 

But  at  last  all  was  over — of  a  religious  nature. 
The  crowds  that  had  filled  Notre  Dame  d'Amiens 
were  streaming  out  to  other  forms  of  celebration  of 
the  jour  de  Patron.  It  was  the  turn  of  the  theatres 
now  and  the  family  gatherings,  of  the  dance  and  song 
and  jest  among  the  better  classes;  the  turn  of  the 
supper  party  and  the  wine-shop  and  the  courtesan  for 
the  remainder  of  the  day — or  rather  night. 

Yet,  for  those  who  still  were  willing  to  continue 
their  religious  devotions,  still  to  regard  the  occasion 
more  as  a  fast  than  a  feast,  the  opportunity  presented 
itself  and  was  availed  of  by  many.  In  every  church 
in  the  city,  in  the  cathedral  above  all,  worshippers 
still  knelt  in  prayer,  though  the  hour  grew  late;  at 
the  confessionals  hidden  priests  still  listened  to  the  sins 
— real  or  imaginary — of  those  who  knelt  before  them. 

In  that  cathedral  with,  still  lingering  about  it,  the 
odour  of  the  incense  that  had  been  used  that  day, 
with  the  organ  still  pealing  gently  through  the  aisles, 
while  at  intervals  the  voix  celeste,  in  flute-like  tones, 
seemed  almost  to  utter  the  soul's  cry,  "  Oh,  Agnus 
Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi,  miserere  mihi !  " — those 
confessors  sat  there,  and  would  sit  until  midnight 
struck,  to  listen  to  and  absolve  all  those  who  sought 
for  pardon. 

"  My  son,"  came  forth  the  muffled  voice  of  one,  his 
face  being  hidden  in  the  impenetrable  darkness  in 
which  he  sat — a  darkness  still  more  profound  since 
many  of  the  lights  in  the  great  edifice  had  either  been 
extinguished  or  had  burnt  themselves  out,  "the  con- 
fession is  not  yet  all  made.  Therefore,  as  yet  there 
can  be  no  absolution.  Confess  thy  sins !  Continue !  " 


"WHICH  WAY  I  FLY  IS   HELL!"  205 

Kneeling  outside,  the  stricken  creature  thus  ad- 
dressed, its  wild  hair  streaming  down  its  back  and 
meeting  with  the  other  unkempt  hair  on  cheek  and 
chin,  its  eyes  gleaming,  like  a  hunted  animal's,  around 
and  up  and  down  the  dusky  aisles,  and  glancing  at 
pillars  as  though  fearing  listeners  behind  each,  went 
on : 

"My  life,  oh,  holy  father,  was  in  his  hands.  He 
knew  all;  knew  I  was  in  France,  and  that  he  could 
give  me  up  to  justice  to  those  whom  I  had  wronged. 
Oh,  father,  mea  culpa,  mea  culpa!  Absolve  me!  ab- 
solve me! " 

"  Tell  first  thy  sin,"  the  muffled  voice  said  again. 
"  Thou  hast  not  yet  told  all.  Deceive  not  the  Church. 
Confession  first,  then  absolution." 

The  penitent  groaned  and  wrung  his  hands,  threw 
back  the  locks  from  his  face,  and  then,  with  that  face 
pressed  close  to  the  confessional,  hissed  in  a  whisper: 

"  Father,  I  was  mad — am  mad,  I  think.  I  was  sore 
wrought ;  but  half  an  hour  before  I  had  been  assaulted 
and  robbed  by  two  villains  of  much  wealth  in  jewels 
— and — and — I  feared  he  would  denounce  me  for  my 
crimes,  make  my  presence  known.  So,  holy  father — 
in  my  frenzy,  in  my  fear — I  struck  him  dead.  I  slew 
him.  Have  mercy  on  me,  God  !  " 

"Where  slew  you  him? "the  priest's  stifled  voice 
continued. 

"There,  father — without,  by  the  west  door.  Oh, 
pardon,  pardon,  that  here,  on  holy  ground  that  should 
be  sanctuary,  I  took  his  life !  " 

It  seemed  almost  to  the  wretch  outside  the  con- 
fessional that  the  priest  had  uttered  a  gasp,  had  start- 
ed in  his  seat,  as  he  heard  these  words;  yet  presently 
he  spoke  again : 


206  DENOUNCED. 

"The  victim  being  the  young  Scots  officer  found 
murdered  more  than  three  months  past  ? " 

"  Tis  so,  holy  father.  'Tis  so.  Oh,  pardon !  Par- 
don me  !  Mea  culpa,  mea  culpa  !  " 

"  What  restitution  have  you  made  ?  "  the  voice  was 
heard  to  ask.  "  What  restitution  propose  to  make  ? " 

"  I  know  not  what  to  make,  father.  I  cannot  call 
him  back  to  life.  What  can  I,  must  I  do  ?  " 

"  Have  you  wronged  others — man,  woman,  or 
child  ?  Think !  trifle  not  with  the  Church.  There 
are,  doubtless,  others." 

"  Oh,  father,  I  have  been  an  evil  liver — a  bad  hus- 
band ;  bad  friend.  Set  my  feet  but  in  the  right  way ! 
show  me  the  path.  And  oh !  father,  absolve  me  of 
this  sin  of  blood.  Above  all,  that !  " 

"  Confess  all,"  the  priest  said,  "  confess  all." 

Then,  still  shivering  there,  while  more  and  more 
the  shadows  grew  within  the  great  temple  and  it  be- 
came more  and  more  empty,  the  wretched  assassin 
went  on,  though  ever  and  again  glancing  behind  the 
stately  column  and  pillars  as  though  fearing  that  un- 
seen listener.  He  told  how,  determined  to  gain  pos- 
session of  a  woman  whose  beauty  maddened  him — the 
more  so  because  she  despised  him,  or,  at  least,  re- 
garded him  not — he  had  tricked  her  into  the  belief 
that  the  man  she  really  loved  had  jilted  her.  Also 
how,  when  even  that  brought  them  no  nearer,  he  had 
married  her.  How,  later  on,  when  wearied  and  exas- 
perated by  her  hate  and  scorn,  he  had  denied  her  as 
his  wife,  hinting  that  he  was  himself  a  priest ;  yet  it 
was  a  lie,  for  he  was  no  priest,  having  never  been  more 
that  a  lector. 

"  Almost,"  came  forth  the  confessor's  voice  again, 
"art  thou  beyond  absolution — beyond  pardon." 


'WHICH  WAY   I   FLY   IS   HELL  ! " 


207 


"  No  !  no  !  no  ! "  wailed  the  wretch. 

"  Twice  hast  thou  used  our  holy  Church  to  aid  in 
thy  deceit.  First,  when  thou  suborned  a  villain  and 
caused  him  to  pretend  he  had  performed  the  holy 
office  of  marriage ;  next,  when  thou  falsely  claimedst 
the  office  of  priest  to  disavow  thy  lawful  wife.  Man, 
how  shall  I  absolve  thee  ?  Yet,  be  more  careful,  or  thy 
soul  is  lost  for  ever.  Hast  thou  done  more  evil  than 
this,  committed  more  outrages  against  the  Church  ?" 

Because,  perhaps,  the  wretched  creature  was  half 
mad  with  terror  now,  with  a  new  terror  for  his  soul 
— whereas  before  he  had  but  feared  for  his  body — he 
told  all  that  he  had  done ;  how,  indeed,  he  had  still 
further  sinned  against  the  Church  in  that  he  had  set 
on  foot  a  plot  having  for  part  of  its  intent  the  ruin  of 
a  priest  of  that  Church,  a  Jesuit,  one  Sholto.  It  was 
all  told  at  last. 

For  so  long  did  the  confessor  sit  silent  in  his  un- 
seen place  that  the  miserable  penitent,  thinking  no 
absolution  would  come  forth  to  him,  began  to  tremble, 
even  to  weep,  and  to  call  on  him  again  for  pardon  and 
for  pity.  But  at  last  the  other  spoke: 

''Art  thou  well-to-do  in  the  world?"  he  asked. 
"  What  are  thy  means  ?  " 

Yes,  he  said  he  was  well-to-do  ;  he  had  large  means 
in  both  England  and  France.  What  portion  should 
he  set  aside  to  appease  both  God  and  Jhe  Church  ? 

"  All,"  answered  the  priest.     "  All." 

"  All !  "  he  gasped.     "  Go  forth  a  beggar  ! 

« All.  Ay,  all.  Better  go  forth  a  beggar,  stand 
naked  in  the  market-place,  than  strip  thy  soul  of  its 
last  chance  of  salvation." 

"  All ! " 

«  To  the  last  sol,  the  last  denier— excepting  a  pro- 


208  DENOUNCED. 

vision  for  thy  unhappy  wife,  Thou  art  the  shedder 
of  blood,  the  blasphemer  of  the  Church  and  its  holy 
offices,  thy  soul  is  clogged  with  guilt.  I  know  not, 
even  then,  and  with  all  else  that  thou  must  do,  if  it 
can  ever  find  expiation." 

"  Say  not  so,  father ;  absolve  me,  pardon  me  !  See  ! 
see !  I  will  do  it.  Before  God  I  swear,  in  this  His 
house,  that  I  will  do  it  !  I  will  become  a  beggar,  part 
with  all.  Only,  father,  give  me  His  pardon.  Pardon, 
and  set  me  free  !  " 

"  Yet,  still  more,"  said  that  voice,  "  must  thou  do. 
Listen  ! " 

And  from  his  lips  there  fell  so  deep  a  charge  that 
the  murderer,  kneeling  there,  knew  that  to  save  his 
soul  in  heaven  he  must  forego  all  hopes  of  future 
peace  on  earth.  Nevermore  was  he  to  touch  meat 
nor  aught  but  the  coarsest  black  bread,  never  drink 
but  water,  never  sleep  soft,  nor  lie  warm  again.  And 
there  was  worse  even  than  that.  He  was  to  go  forth 
to  wild,  savage  parts  of  the  world,  there  to  pass  the 
rest  of  his  existence  in  trying  to  preach  God's  good- 
ness and  mercy  to  the  heathen  who  knew  Him  not. 
On  the  promise  that  he  would  do  this  the  priest  would 
give  him  absolution ;  otherwise  he  would  refuse  it, 
and  his  soul  must  go  to  everlasting  perdition. 

He  promised,  and  he  was  absolved ! 

Still  sitting  there,  the  last  in  the  cathedral  that 
night — for  all  were  gone  now  except  those  who  were 
to  guard  it  until  midnight  had  struck — he  became  the 
prey  of  even  worse  horrors  than  he  had  been  before  ; 
he  was  absolved  as  regards  his  soul,  yet  into  his  mind 
a  new  fear  had  arisen  for  his  body — a  fear  that  became 
a  spectre.  He  had  thought  that  once  or  twice  he  had 
recognised  in  the  tones  of  the  priest's  voice  some  that 


209 

were  familiar  to  him ;  now  he  felt  sure  that  they  were. 
He  had  confessed  to  his  bitterest  enemy  on  earth— to 
Archibald  Sholto  !  to  the  brother  of  the  man  whom 
he  had  murdered ! 

This  was  the  meaning  of  the  awful  doom  passed  on 
him — the  doom  of  ruin,  beggary,  and  starvation,  of  ex- 
patriation to  wild  and  savage  lands.  To  him !  He 
had  confessed  to  him  of  all  others !  Yet,  was  it  so,  or 
was  he,  in  truth,  mad  ?  He  had  heard  of  madmen  who 
knew  that  they  were  mad  and  who  could  yet  be  so 
cunning  as  to  contend  with  that  madness,  wrestle  with 
it,  subdue  it — for  a  time.  Let  him  do  so  now.  Let  him 
think  it  all  out.  Was  it,  in  truth,  Archibald  Sholto  ? 

It  might  well  be. 

For  three  months  he  had  been  in  hiding  in  a  small 
village  near  Amiens,  watching  over  the  course  of 
events  connected  with  his  assassination  of  Douglas, 
avoiding,  above  all  others,  yet  keeping  them  ever 
under  his  own  view,  two  persons.  One  was  Archibald, 
the  other  the  woman  who  had  seen  his  face  on  that 
night — the  white-faced  woman  in  the  darkened  room 
who  had  raised  her  finger  and  pointed  as  he  did  the 
deed. 

"Avoided  them,"  he  muttered  now,  as  he  sat  there 
in  the  dark,  watching  the  sacred  lamp  that  burned  un- 
ceasingly above  the  high  altar,  but  still  engaged  always 
in  peering  into  the  deep  shadows  and  blackness  in 
which  the  huge  pile  was  now  enveloped — "avoided 
them.  O  God,  how  have  I  avoided  them !  Yet, 
drawn  irresistibly  to  where  they  were.  Little  does  he 
know  how  I  have  seen  him  officiating  at  his  own 
church,  or  she  how  I  have  passed  her  close,  though 
unseen  ;  even  peered  into  her  room  at  night  from  the 
street,  when,  dragged  here  by— by— the  fierce  desire 


2io  DENOUNCED. 

to  stand  again  upon  the  spot  where — where  he  fell. 
Once,  too,  she  felt,  unwittingly,  my  presence.  As  I 
brushed  against  her  in  the  street  she  shuddered  and 
drew  back  from  me.  Something  revealed  that  one 
accursed  had  touched  her." 

He  moaned  aloud  as  he  sat  there,  his  head  buried 
in  his  hands;  then,  because  his  mind  was  now  disor- 
dered and  he  was  half  mad,  half  sane,  a  smile  came  on 
the  evil  face  that  he  turned  up  as  the  moon's  rays 
came  through  the  great  rose  window  and  lighted  all 
the  nave.  "Yet,"  he  murmured,  "it  was  in  the  con- 
fessional under  the  seal  of  confession.  If  it  was 
Douglas's  brother,  he  can  do  naught.  Naught !  Con- 
fession is  sacred.  That  seal  cannot  be  broken.  But 
was  it  he  ?  Was  it  ?  Was  it  ? 

"  His  face  I  could  not  see,  but  the  tones  were  like 
unto  his,"  he  continued.  "And  once  he  started — I 
am  certain  of  it.  O  God,  have  I  told  his  brother 
all?  His  brother!  His  brother!" 

Above,  from  the  great  tower,  there  boomed  the 
striking  of  the  hour — midnight.  And  again  he  shud- 
dered and  moaned  and  whispered  with  white  lips  : 

"  The  very  hour,  the  hour  that  I  cannot  hear,  can 
never  hear  again,  without  agony  and  horror  unspeak- 
able. The  hour  told  by  the  same  clock  that  told  it  on 
that  night  of  blood.  I  must  go,"  he  wailed  in  low, 
broken  tones,  "  must  go  there.  He  draws  me  to  the 
spot;  I  see  his  finger  beckoning  me  nightly.  His  eyes 
met  mine  once,  a  month  ago,  as  I  reached  Paris.  I 
thought  I  was  free  and  had  escaped,  yet  they  dragged 
me  back  to  this  accursed  spot.  I  must  go.  I  must  go. 
He  waits  for  me.  Ever — ever  when  the  moon  is  near 
her  full.  I  am  absolved  by  him,  his  brother,  yet  he  is 
always  beckoning  me  and  makes  me  go." 


"WHICH  WAY   I   FLY   IS   HELL!"  2II 

A  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder  as  he  sat  there,  and  he 
started  up  with  almost  a  shriek,  and  with  his  own  hand 
thrust  in  his  breast— perhaps  to  draw  some  hidden 
knife,  perhaps  to  still  the  leap  his  heart  gave. 

"  Monsieur,"  a  voice  said,  the  voice  of  the  old 
sacristan,  "  permit  that  I  disturb  your  pious  medita- 
tions. But  all"  are  gone  now,  including  the  priests. 
The  cathedral  is  about  to  close." 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  muttered  low,  "I  will  go.  I  will 
go.  I  have  stayed  too  long." 

"  By  the  west  door,  if  it  pleases  monsieur.  It  is 
the  only  one  open." 

"  The  west  door,"  the  terrified  creature  muttered 
as  he  left  the  old  man  putting  out  the  last  remaining 
lights,  and  so  made  his  way  towards  the  exit  indicated. 
"  By  the  west  door.  It  must  needs  be  that.  It  is  the 
nearest  to  the  spot,  and  he  will  be  there  waiting  for 
me,  the  moonlight  shining  in  his  glittering  eyes  as  he 
beckons  me  to  him,  the  glare  of  reproach  in  them.  I 
must  go.  I  must  go." 

Down  the  long  aisle  he  crept,  shaking  as  with  a 
palsy  as  he  went,  starting  and  almost  crying  out  again 
as  a  bat  flew  by  and  brushed  his  hair  with  its  wings, 
going  onward  to  what  he  dreaded  to  see,  the  phantom 
of  the  murdered  man  which  his  distracted  brain  con- 
jured up  nightly. 

"  He  will  be  there,"  he  muttered  again.  "  He  will 
be  there." 

He  reached  the  great  west  door — striking  against 
the  bell  ropes  hanging  in  the  tower,  and  gasping  at 
the  contact — and  then  paused  at  the  wicket  let  into 
the  door,  dreading  to  go  out  through  it  to  meet  the 
ghostly  figure  that  he  knew  awaited  him. 

Still,  it  must  be  done,  and  with  another  gasp,  a 


212  DENOUNCED. 

smothered  groan,  he  stepped  out  through  the  wicket 
into  the  shadow  thrown  by  the  cathedral  wall,  and 
gazed  upon  the  moon-illuminated  spot  where  Douglas 
had  fallen  dead. 

And  once  more  he  smothered  a  shriek  that  rose  to 
his  lips. 

Standing  above  that  spot,  its  back  to  him,  but  as  he 
could  tell  by  the  bent  head,  gazing  down  upon  it, 
there  was  the  figure  of  a  man — a  man  still  as  death 
itself  ;  a  man  bare-headed. 

"  You  have  come  again,"  he  hissed  in  terror. 
"  Again  !  Again  !  Mercy  !  Mercy  ! 

Swiftly  the  figure  turned  and  faced  him — its  eyes 
glistening  in  the  moonlight  as  he  had  said — and  ad- 
vanced towards  him. 

"  Douglas  !  "  he  screamed.     "  Douglas  !     Mercy  !  " 

"  No,"  the  figure  said.  "  No.  Not  Douglas. 
Archibald." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

AVENGED. 

HE  had  fallen  grovelling  to  the  earth  as  that  figure 
turned  its  face  towards  him,  and  now  he  remained  in 
the  same  position. 

As  he  did  so  Archibald  Sholto  knew  for  certain 
that  he  had  found  his  brother's  murderer.  In  the 
moment  of  witnessing  that  frenzied  terror  there  had 
flashed  into  his  mind  the  knowledge  of  who  had  been 
the  wearer  of  the  tiara  with  the  one  yellow-brown 
diamond  in  it;  the  recognition  of  the  dark  head 
streaked  with  grey  with  which  his  thoughts  had  been 
filled  for  weeks,  yet  without  certainty — the  head  of 
the  murderer's  late  mother !  He  knew  all  now.  She 
it  was  who  had  worn  the  diadem  in  the  great  cere- 
monies he  had  taken  part  in;  the  rejoicings  at  the 
peace  of  '38,  the  almost  equally  great  rejoicings  at  the 
death  of  the  Emperor  Charles,  and  many  others.  She, 
Lady  Fordingbridge,  his  mother,  had  worn  it  often ; 
often  had  he  observed  the  strange  light  emitted  by 
that  blemished  jewel;  and  now,  from  the  tiara  in 
which  it  still  remained,  a  ruby  was  missing,  and  had 
been  found  on  the  spot  where  his  brother  had  been 
done  to  death.  Therefore  he  knew  that  that  brother's 
assassin  was  before  him.  God  had  given  him  into  his 

hands. 

213 


214 


DENOUNCED. 


He  bent  forward  over  the  crouching  creature  at 
his  feet ;  in  a  low  voice  he  said : 

"  So,  I  have  found  you,  Simeon  Larpent.  Even 
though  you  are  armed  to-night  as  you  were  on  that 
other  night  ;  even  though  you  bear  about  you  the 
weapon  with  which  you  slew  him,  you  cannot  escape 
me." 

"You  can  do  nothing,"  the  other  said,  turning  up 
an  evil  eye  at  him  and  then  rising  to  his  feet — "  noth- 
ing! Your  tongue  is  sealed.  What  I  confessed  was 
under  the  sanctity  of  the  confessional ;  you  dare  tell 
naught." 

At  once  the  Jesuit's  clear  mind  grasped  the  facts 
—at  once  he  perceived  that  the  murderer  had  been 
cleansing  his  soul  before  a  confessor — and  thought 
that  he  was  that  confessor. 

" I  told  you  all,"  Fordingbridge  went  on,  "all,  all. 
And  you  absolved  me,  pardoned  me,  though  the  pun- 
ishment you  meted  out  to  me  was  hard.  Have  you 
not  vengeance  enough?  To  go  forth  a  beggar  and 
an  outcast — to  wander  in  savage  lands  until  I  die — 
surely,  surely,  that  is  enough.  Let  me  go  in  peace." 

"Not  yet,"  Archibald  Sholto  answered;  "not  yet." 

"  Not  yet !  "  the  other  repeated.  "  Not  yet !  What 
more  would  you  have  ?  All  is  told — you  know  all 
now.  Shall  I  repeat  what  I  said  in  there  ?  I  slew  him 
here  upon  this  spot  because  he  would  have  warned 
you  and  Elphinston  that  I  was  in  France,  and — you 
absolved  me.  It  is  enough." 

"  You  slew  him  here  upon  this  spot,"  the  Jesuit 
said,  and  he  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  place,  "  upon 
this  spot.  You  acknowledge  it  ?" 

"Have  I  not  said?  You  have  absolved  me."  It 
was  strange  how,  from  the  repetition  of  this  phrase, 


AVENGED.  2If 

he  seemed  to  take  comfort.  "  You  have  absolved 
me." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  the  other  said,  while  as  he 
spoke  he  drew  nearer  to  the  murderer,  though  keep- 
ing ever  a  wary  eye  upon  him.  "  Mistaken !  I  have 
heard  no  confession  for  a  week." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Fordingbridge,  springing  back 
a  step  or  so,  while  now  his  eyes  glared  round  the  de- 
serted cathedral  place — again  like  the  eyes  of  some 
hunted  or  trapped  wild  beast.  "  What !  It  was  not 
you  in  there  ?  Not  you  !  " 

"  No.  Not  I.  Simeon  Larpent,  you  are  doomed. 
You  divulged  your  crime  under  the  seal  of  the  con- 
fessional in  the  cathedral ;  you  have  divulged  it  openly 
here  with  no  such  seal  to  protect  you.  Murderer ! 
You  are  in  my  power !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  saw  the  other  do  that  which  he  had 
been  anticipating.  He  saw  his  hand  steal  to  his 
breast ;  he  knew  that  he  was  searching  for  some  weap- 
on concealed  there.  But  he  feared  him  not ;  he,  too, 
was  armed.  Ever  since  he  had  sought  for  the  assassin 
he  had  carried  about  with  him  a  small  pistol,  knowing 
that  if,  by  any  strange  chance,  fortune  should  throw 
him  across  the  villain's  path,  such  weapon  might  be 
needed.  To-night  he  had  come  out  to  gaze  again  on 
the  place  where  the  deed  had  been  done,  never  think- 
ing, never  dreaming,  that  there  of  all  places  on  the 
earth  that  murderer  should  be  found,  yet  not  neglect- 
ing the  precaution  of  being  armed.  Now  that  pre- 
caution stood  him  in  good  stead. 

"  Draw  no  hidden  weapon  from  your  breast,"  he 
said,  as  he  saw  the  hand  go  to  it ;  "  remember,  I  am 
not  as  Douglas  was,  but  am  forewarned ;  and  if  you 
bring  forth  one,  I  will  slay  you  here  on  the  spot  as  you 


2i6  DENOUNCED. 

slew  him,  and  save  the  hangman  his  office,"  and  as  he 
spoke  he  showed  the  other  the  little  inlaid  pistol,  its 
barrel  glistening  in  the  moon's  rays. 

"  You  know  nothing,"  the  other  hissed  at  him  now, 
"  nothing.  I  have  told  you  nothing — you  have  no  wit- 
nesses. My  word  is  as  good  as  yours,  even  if  I  let  you 
take  me — which  I  will  not,"  he  continued,"  which  I  will 
not." 

"  No  witnesses  ? "  said  Archibald ;  "  no  witnesses  ? 
Nay,  look  behind  you.  Look !  I  say.  No  other  wit- 
ness is  required." 

Affrighted  at  his  words — thinking,  perhaps,  that  the 
terrible  spectre  that  haunted  him  always  now  might  be 
standing  menacingly  behind  him— he  glanced  round,  and 
what  he  saw  struck  nearly  as  much  horror  to  his  crime- 
laden  brain  as  could  have  done  the  ghost  of  his  victim. 

Advancing  from  an  open  door  by  the  side  of  the 
cathedral  there  came  a  woman,  her  face  white  as  any 
ghost's  or  leper's,  her  eyes  distended,  her  hand  up- 
lifted and  pointing  at  him.  Indeed,  so  appalling  was 
her  ghastliness,  the  whiteness  of  her  face  being  made 
doubly  so  by  the  rays  of  the  moon  falling  upon  it,  that 
the  dazed,  stricken  creature  hid  his  own  face  in  his 
hands  and  recoiled  as  she  advanced. 

"  It  is  he,"  she  said.  "  It  is  he.  Nightly  almost  he 
comes  when  the  moon  is  up.  Seize  on  him,  seize  him ! 
Let  him  never  escape  again,"  and  still  she  pointed  at 
the  man  shivering  between  them. 

"  Fear  not,"  Archibald  said.  "  Fear  not."  Then 
turning  to  Fordingbridge,  while  he  held  the  pistol 
pointed  at  him,  he  continued :  "  Come !  Resistance 
is  useless.  I  have  sworn  here,  upon  this  spot,  to 
avenge  Douglas  ;  I  will  keep  my  oath.  Till  you  stand 
upon  the  scaffold  you  are  mine." 


AVENGED.  217 

"He  has  a  weapon  to  his  hand,"  the  woman  said, 
still  with  her  own  pointing  at  him  as  if  it  were  the 
hand  of  Fate.  "  See  !  "  Then,  as  though  she  were 
one  inspired,  she  said,  as  she  turned  to  him,  "  Give  me 
the  knife." 

Whether  his  mind  was  gone  at  last,  or  whether  fear 
had  so  overcome  Fordingbridge  that  he  was  no  longer 
master  of  his  actions,  Sholto  was  never  able  to  decide. 
Yet,  from  whichever  cause  it  was,  he  obeyed  his  ghastly 
denouncer  in  so  far  that,  as  she  spoke  to  him,  the  dag- 
ger dropped  to  the  earth.  And  she,  picking  it  up, 
placed  it  in  the  priest's  hands,  saying : 

"  It  is  borne  in  on  me  that  with  this  he  slew  that 
other  one.  I  feel  it — know  it." 

"  You  will  testify  that  he  is  the  murderer  ? "  Sholto 
said.  "  You  do  not  doubt  ?  " 

"  Doubt !  "  she  exclaimed,  turning  her  wan,  white 
face  on  him.  "Doubt!  How  should  I  doubt?  He 
has  haunted  me  since  that  awful  night — haunted  me, 
almost  driven  me  to  my  death.  Oh,  you  know  not ! 
I  have  risen  at  night  from  my  bed  to  see  him  stand- 
ing there,  muttering,  grimacing  over  that  very  spot,  so 
that,  as  I  gazed  on  him  from  out  the  darkness  of  my 
room,  I  have  swooned  again  as  on  that  night  I  swooned. 
Had  I  been  a  man,  nay,  had  I  had  a  man  to  call  on,  I 
would  have  gone  forth  and  seized  him.  Yet,  when  I 
have  told  others  that  nightly,  almost,  the  murderer 
came  and  gloated  over  the  space  where  he  slew  the 
other,  they  derided  me,  said  I  was  mad,  would  not 
even  watch  themselves.  Oh,  the  horror  of  it!  the 
horror  of  it !  " 

"  The  horror  is  ended  for  you  now,  poor  woman, 
the  priest  said.     "  Never  more  will  he  affright  your 
sight  when  you  rise  from  your  bed.     Yet  do  me  one 


2i8  DENOUNCED. 

service,  I  beg  you.  Put  on  some  clothes,  for  the  night 
air  gets  cold  " — she  had,  indeed,  come  forth  from  her 
room — where  she  had  again  been  watching  in  terror, 
fearing  to  see  another  murder — in  little  else  than  her 
night  raiment — "  and  go  fetch  the  watch.  I  will  see 
that  he  escapes  not." 

The  woman  went  away  at  his  request,  and  coming 
out  from  the  house,  at  which  she  was  the  concierge, 
with  a  cloak  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  sped  down  the 
darkened  streets,  while  once  more  the  avenger  and  his 
prey  were  left  alone.  But  they  spoke  no  more  to  one 
another  now ;  only  stood  there  silent,  facing  each 
other.  Yet  once,  after  a  few  moments'  pause,  Ford- 
ingbridge  chuckled  audibly  and  whispered  to  himself. 
God  only  knows  what  was  in  the  wretched  man's  mind 
as  he  did  so ;  Archibald,  at  least,  made  no  attempt  to 
discover. 

For  himself  he  was  contented.  Fate  had  thrown 
into  his  hands  the  assassin  of  his  beloved  brother — 
that  was  enough. 

Presently  the  woman  came  back,  and  with  her  three 
of  the  watch,  armed  and  with  a  lantern  borne  in  the 
hands  of  one,  and  into  their  custody  the  Jesuit  gave 
Fordingbridge.  Yet,  since  he  could  not  feel  at  ease 
until  he  had  seen  the  other  safe  under  lock  and  key,  he 
accompanied  them  to  the  prison — to  which  the  guard- 
house was  attached — and  handed  him  over  to  the  offi- 
cials there. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said,  "I  will  formally  lay  my 
charge  against  him  before  the  Procureur  du  Roi ;  till 
then,  I  pray  you,  keep  him  safe.  He  is  the  murderer 
of  the  young  Scotch  officer  who  was  slain  outside 
the  cathedral,  and  was  my  brother,  as  all  Amiens 
knows." 


AVENGED.  2Ig 

"  Never  fear,  monsieur,"  said  the  chief  of  the  watch  ; 
"  we  will  keep  him  safe  enough.  Our  cage  is  strong." 

A  few  nights  later  than  the  one  on  which  the  mur- 
derer, Fordingbridge,  had  been  taken  to  the  prison, 
Bertie  Elphinston,  riding  up  to  the  northern  gate  of 
Paris,  demanded  admission.  It  was  a  cold,  raw  night 
this — one  of  those  October  evenings  common  enough 
to  the  north  of  France,  when  the  moisture  hangs  like 
rain-drops  on  every  bush  and  bramble,  and  when  the 
rawness  penetrates  to  the  inside  of  man,  making  him 
think  of  drams  of  brandy  and  Nantz  as  the  best  pre- 
ventive of  chill  and  cold. 

He  would  not  have  ridden  in  to-night,  would  not 
have  left  the  comfortable  fire  in  the  officers'  quarters 
of  the  St.  Denis  Caserne  to  splash  through  six  miles 
of  wet  roads,  only  it  was  Thursday,  the  day  on  which 
he  invariably  went  to  Paris,  partly  to  pay  his  respects 
to  Charles  Edward,  partly  to  see  his  mother  and  Kate. 
Also,  if  he  did  not  come  on  Thursday  there  was  no 
other  opportunity  for  him  to  do  so  for  a  week ;  there 
were  only  the  officers  of  two  troops  quartered  in  the 
old  town,  and  but  one  night  a  week  granted  to  each 
for  leave.  Therefore  he  was  loath  to  lose  his  turn,  and 
to  go  a  whole  fortnight  without  seeing  the  two  crea- 
tures dearest  to  him  in  the  world. 

"  A  rough,  raw  night,"  he  said  to  the  man  at  the 
gate  as  he  passed  in,  "a  night  better  for  indoor  pleas- 
ures than  the  streets.  You  have  the  best  of  it,"  glanc- 
ing in  at  the  bright  fire  in  the  man's  room,  "much  the 
best  of  it." 

" Mais  out,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine"  said  the  custodi- 
an—who knew  him  very  well— following  his  glance  as 
it  rested  on  the  blazing  hearth  and  his  little  girl  play- 
15 


220  DENOUNCED. 

ing  with  a  pup  before  it.  "Mais  oui."  Then  he  said, 
as  Bertie  stooped  down  to  tighten  the  buckle  of  his 
stirrup  leather,  "Was  monsieur  expecting, par  hasard, 
to  meet  anyone  hereabouts  to-night  ?  Any  friend  or 
person  with  a  message  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Elphinston,  partly  in  answer  to  his 
question,  partly  in  surprise.  "  No  one.  Why  do  you 
ask  ? " 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  the  true  French 
manner,  then  he  said  : 

"  Oh,  for  no  serious  reason — but,"  and  he  paused 
and  then  went  on  again  :  "  There  came  yesterday  an 
unknown  one  to  me  who  asked  how  often  Monsieur  le 
Capitaine  Elphinston  rode  into  Paris.  I  knew  not  your 
name  then,  monsieur,  but  his  description  was  graphic, 
very  graphic,  so  that  at  once  I  knew  he  meant  you. 
Moreover,  the  other  officers  of  monsieur's  regiment 
come  not  so  regularly  on  any  day,  some  come  not 
at  all." 

"  'Tis  strange,"  Bertie  said;  "I  know  no  one  who 
need  ask  for  me  in  this  mysterious  manner,  especially 
as  there  is  no  mystery  about  me.  My  life  is  simple 
and  open  enough,  I  should  suppose.  Six  days  a  week 
in  garrison  at  St.  Denis,  one  night  a  week  in  Paris ; 
there  is  not  much  to  hide." 

"  So  I  told  the  man,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine ;  not 
much  to  hide.  Voyez-vous,  I  said,  here  is  the  captain's 
life  so  far  as  I  know  it.  He  rides  in  every  Thursday 
evening  about  six  of  the  clock,  leaves  his  horse,  as  I 
have  heard  him  say,  at  an  inn  in  the  Rue  St.  Louis, 
sees  his  friends,  sleeps  at  the  inn,  and  rides  out  of 
Paris  again  at  six  in  the  morning  to  his  duties.  Not 
much  mystery  in  that,  mon  ami?  I  said  to  him.  Not 
much  mystery  in  that." 


AVENGED.  221 

"  And  what  did  he  say  to  you  in  return  ? "  asked 
Bertie. 

"  Little  enough.  Remarked  that  he  had  made  no 
suggestion  of  mystery ;  indeed,  was  not  aware  of  any 
reason  for  such  ;  only  he  desired  to  see  you.  Asked  if 
you  wore  your  military  dress,  to  which  I  answered  ma 
foil  no.  The  uniform  of  the  Regiment  of  Picardy 
was  too  handsome,  the  cuirass  too  heavy  for  ordinary 
wear,  the  gold  lace  too  costly ;  and  that  monsieur  was 
always  well  but  soberly  attired.  Also  that  his  horse,  a 
bright  bay,  was  a  pretty  creature,  as  she  is,  as  she  is," 
whereon  he  stroked  the  mare's  muzzle  affectionately, 
for  he  himself  was  an  old  cavalryman  and  knew  a  good 
horse  when  he  saw  one. 

"  Well,"  said  Bertie  with  a  laugh,  "  you  have  de- 
scribed me  accurately,  so  that  my  friend  should  know 
me  when  he  sees  me.  However,  I  must  not  linger 
here.  Good-night.  Good-night,  Bebe"  to  the  child 
playing  with  the  dog,  both  of  whom  he,  who  loved 
children  and  animals,  had  long  since  made  acquaint- 
ance with. 

As  he  rode  through  the  narrow  streets  towards  the 
inn  where  he  always  put  up  for  the  night,  he  reflected 
that  it  might  have  been  wise  to  ask  the  gate-keeper 
for  a  description  of  the  man  who  had  been  anxious  to 
obtain  that  of  him ;  but  since  he  had  -not  done  so  there 
was  no  help  for  it.  Yet  he  could  not  dismiss  from  his 
mind  the  fact  of  the  unknown  having  inquired  for  him 
—and  by  name,  too— nor  help  wondering  who  on 
earth  he  could  be.  He  pondered  over  every  friend  he 
could  call  to  mind,  old  comrades  in  the  French  King's 
service  by  whose  side  he  had  fought,  or  comrades  in 
the  late  English  invasion ;  yet  his  meditations  natu- 
rally amounted  to  nothing.  The  man  might  have  been 


222  DENOUNCED. 

one  of  them  or  none  of  them,  and,  whoever  he  was,  no 
amount  of  cogitation  would  reveal  him.  He  must 
wait  and  see  what  the  mysterious  inquirer  might  turn 
out  to  be. 

He  rode  into  the  inn  he  used  in  the  Rue  St.  Louis, 
put  up  his  horse,  and  after  personally  seeing  it  at- 
tended to — for  it  had  done  duty  before  starting  for 
Paris — went  into  the  guests'  room  and  made  a  slight 
meal,  after  which  he  ordered  a  coach  to  be  called  to 
take  him  to  Passy,  where  his  mother  lived. 

Later,  when  Bertie  Elphinston  had  disappeared 
from  all  human  knowledge  from  that  night,  the  search 
that  was  made  for  him  elucidated  what  had  been  his 
movements  and  actions  up  to  a  certain  point,  after 
which  all  clue  was  lost.  What  those  movements  were 
have  now  to  be  told. 

Quitting  his  mother  after  an  hour's  visit,  he  found 
the  same  coach  standing  outside  the  auberge  in  the 
street  of  the  little  suburb,  and,  again  hiring  it,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  mansion  of  Charles  Edward,  on  the 
Quai  de  Theatin — to  which  he  had  removed  from  the 
Chateau  de  St.  Antoine,  where  he  had  resided  for  a 
short  time  as  the  guest  of  Louis  XV — and  here  he 
spent  two  more  hours  with  his  countrymen  in  attend- 
ance on  the  prince,  and  with  Kate.  At  this  place  he 
had  finally  dismissed  the  coach,  and  as  he  left  the 
house  an  episode  arose  which  recalled  to  his  mind  the 
unknown  person  who  had  inquired  for  him  at  the 
north  gate. 

As  he  descended  the  steps  of  the  mansion  he  saw, 
to  his  surprise,  that,  lurking  opposite  by  the  parapet 
which  separated  the  Quai  from  the  river,  was  a  man 
who  had  been  standing  near  him  when  he  hired  the 
coach  outside  his  inn  on  the  other  side  of  the  Seine, 


AVENGED. 

and  who,  still  more  strangely,  had  been  standing  out- 
side the  inn  at  Passy  when  he  quitted  his  mother's 
house. 

That  this  man  was  following  him  was  therefore 
scarcely  to  be  doubted,  and,  determined  to  see  whether 
such  was  the  case,  he  crossed  the  road,  stared  under 
his  hat,  which  was  drawn  well  down  over  his  features, 
and  then  walked  slowly  on  towards  the  Pont  Neuf. 
Also,  he  took  the  precaution  of  loosening  his  sword  in 
its  sheath. 

If  he  had  had  any  doubts — which  was  not  the  case 
— they  would  soon  have  been  resolved,  since,  as  he 
proceeded  along  the  narrow  footway  by  the  parapet, 
the  man  followed  him  at  the  same  pace.  Then,  in- 
stantly, Bertie  stopped,  faced  around,  and,  walking 
back  half-a-dozen  paces,  said  to  him : 

"  Monsieur  has  business  with  me  without  doubt. 
Be  good  enough  to  explain  it,"  and  now  he  lifted  his 
sword  in  its  scabbard  so  that,  while  he  held  the  sheath 
in  the  left  hand,  his  right  grasped  the  handle. 

«  I — I "  the  man  stammered.  "  Yes,  Monsieur 

Elphinston " 

"  Monsieur  Elphinston  !  so  you  know  me  ?  "  and  a 
light  flashed  on  his  mind.  "  Monsieur  Elphinston. 
Ha !  Perhaps  it  was  you  who  inquired  for  me  at  the 
north  gate  yesterday  ? " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  the  man  replied  respectfully  ;  "  it 
was  I  who  did  so." 

"  Who  are  you,  then  ?  What  is  your  affair  with 
me  that  you  track  me  thus?" 

"I  am  servant  to  Carvel,  the  exempt.  I  have 
orders  to  keep  you  in  view." 

"Servant    to    an    exempt!*    What,  pray,  has   an 

*  A  tipstaff,  or  executor  of  warrants  for  the  Government. 


224 


DENOUNCED. 


exempt  to  do  with  me  ? "  Bertie  asked  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  That,  monsieur,"  the  man  said,  still  very  respect- 
fully, "  I  cannot  say.  I  but  obey  my  orders,  do  my 
duty.  I  received  instructions  that  you  were  to  be 
kept  under  watch  from  the  time  you  entered  Paris, 
and  I  am  carrying  them  out — must  carry  them  out." 

"  Where  is  this  exempt  to  be  found,  this  man 
Carvel  ?  We  will  have  the  matter  regulated  at  once. 
Where  is  he,  I  say  ? " 

"  If  monsieur  would  be  so  complaisant  as  to  follow 
me — it  is  but  across  the  Pont  Neuf — doubtless  mon- 
sieur will  make  everything  clear." 

"  Lead  on,"-  Bertie  said,  "I  will  follow  you,  or,  since 
you  may  doubt  me,  will  go  first." 

"  If  monsieur  pleases." 

At  this  period,  and  indeed  for  long  afterwards, 
Paris  was  too  often  the  scene  of  terrible  outrages  com- 
mitted on  unprotected  persons.  Men — sometimes 
even  women — were  inveigled  into  houses  under  one 
pretence  or  another  and  robbed,  oftentimes  murdered 
for  whatever  they  might  chance  to  have  about  them, 
and,  frequently,  were  never  heard  of  again.  That  this 
was  the  case  Bertie  knew  perfectly  well,  yet — even 
after  the  mysterious  murder  of  his  friend  at  Amiens — • 
he  had  not  the  slightest  belief  that  anything  of  a  simi- 
lar nature  was  intended  towards  him.  First,  he  was  a 
soldier  and  known  by  the  man  behind  him  to  be  one; 
he  was  armed,  although  now  dressed  as  a  civilian,  and 
therefore  a  dangerous  man  to  attack.  And,  next,  none 
who  knew  aught  of  him  could  suppose  that  it  would 
be  worth  while  to  endeavour  to  rob  him.  The  Scots 
officers  serving  in  France  were  no  fit  game  fo'r  such  as 
got  their  living  by  preying  on  their  fellow-creatures. 


AVENGED.  22- 

Still  he  could  not  but  muse  deeply  on  what  could 
possibly  be  the  object  of  any  exempt  in  subjecting  him 
to  such  espionage,  while  at  the  same  time  he  hastened 
his  footsteps  over  the  bridge  so  as  at  once  to  arrive  at 
a  solution  of  the  matter. 

"  Here  is  the  bureau  of  Monsieur  Carvel,"  said  the 
spy,  as  on  reaching  the  northern  side  of  the  river  he 
directed  his  companion  to  a  house  almost  facing  the 
approach  to  the  bridge;  "doubtless  he  will  explain 
all." 

"  Doubtless,"  replied  Elphinston.    "  Summon  him." 

The  door  was  opened  an  instant  after  the  man  had 
rapped  on  it,  and  another  man,  plainly  dressed  and 
evidently  of  the  inferior  orders,  though  of  a  re- 
spectable type,  admitted  them  to  a  room  on  the  left- 
hand  side  of  the  passage;  a  room  on  the  walls  of 
which  hung  several  weapons — a  blunderbuss,  a  mus- 
quetoon  or  so,  some  swords — which  Bertie  noticed 
were  mostly  of  fashionable  make  with  parchment 
labels  attached  to  them — and  one  or  two  pairs  of 
gyves,  or  fetters.  Also,  on  the  walls  were  some 
roughly-printed  descriptions  of  persons,  in  some  cases 
illustrated  with  equally  rough  wood-cuts. 

"  So !  "  said  the  man,  looking  first  at  the  spy  and 
then  at  Elphinston.  "  So  !  Whom  have  we  here  ? " 

"  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Elphinston,"  the  other  re- 
plied. "Learning,  Monsieur  Carvel,  your  desire  to 
meet  with  him  from  me,  he  elected  to  visit  you  at 
once." 

"  Tiens  !  It  will  save  much  trouble.  Monsieur  le 
Capitaine  is  extremely  obliging." 

"  Sir,"  said  Bertie  sternly,  "  I  am  not  here  with  the 
intention  of  conferring  any  obligation  upon  you.  I 
wish  to  know  why  I,  an  officer  of  the  King,  serving  in 


226  DENOUNCED. 

the  Regiment  of  Picardy,  am  tracked  and  spied  upon 
by  your  follower,  or  servant.  I  wish  a  full  explanation 
of  why  I  am  subjected  to  this  indignity." 

"  Monsieur,  the  explanation  is  very  simple.  An 
order  signed  by  the  Vicomte  d'Argenson  has  been 
forwarded  to  me  for  your  arrest,  and  with  it  a  lettre 
de  cachet." 

"  A  lettre  de  cachet !  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur.  A  lettre  de  cachet,  ordering  me 
to  convey  you  to  the  Bastille." 

"  My  God !  " 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE     BASTILLE. 

"  La  Bastille  !  oil  toute  personne,  quels  que  soient  son  rang,  son 
age,  son  sexe,  peut  entrer  sans  savoir  pourquoi,  raster  sans  savoir 
combien,  en  attendant  d'en  sortir  sans  savoir  comment." — SERVAN. 

"  ON  what  charge  is  that  letter  issued  ? "  asked 
Elphinston  a  moment  later,  when  he  had  recovered 
somewhat  from  the  stupefaction  into  which  the  ex- 
empt's last  words  had  thrown  him.  "  On  what  charge  ? " 

"  Monsieur,"  the  man  replied,  "  how  can  I  answer 
you  ?  Nay!  who  could  do  so  ?  Not  even  De  Launey, 
the  Governor,  could  tell  you  that.  These  billets-doux 
are  none  too  explicit.  They  order  us,  the  exempts,  in 
one  letter  to  arrest ;  the  Governor,  in  another,  to  re- 
ceive. But  that  is  all.  It  is  from  the  examiners,  the 
judges,  from  D'Argenson  himself,  wise  child  of  a  wise 
father !  that  you  must  seek  an  explanation." 

"  But  there  is  no  possible  reason  for  it,  no  earthly 
charge  that  can  be  brought  against  me.  It  must  be  a 
mistake  ! " 

"  So  all  say,"  the  exempt  exclaimed,  repressing  a 
faint  smile  that  rose  to  his  features.  "  Yet,  here  is  the 
name,  very  clearly  written,"  and  he  took  from  his 
pocket  the  lettre  de  cachet,  impressed  with  a  great 
stamp,  and  read  from  it :— '  Elphinston.  Scotch. 
Capitaine  du  Regiment  de  Picardy.  Troop  Fifth,  at 
St.  Denis.'  That  is  you,  monsieur  ?  " 

227 


228  DENOUNCED. 

"  Yes,"  Bertie  said  with  a  gasp.  "  It  is  I.  No 
doubt  about  that." 

There  rose  before  his  mind,  as  he  spoke,  every 
story,  every  legend  he  had  ever  heard  in  connection 
with  the  Bastille.  And  although  it  is  true  that,  in  the 
days  when  that  fortress  existed,  it  was  not  regarded 
in  so  terrible  a  light  as  time  and  fiction  have  since 
cast  upon  its  memory,  it  still  presented  itself  in  a  suffi- 
ciently appalling  aspect.  Men  undoubtedly  went  in 
and  came  out  after  very  short  intervals  of  incarcera- 
tion— some  doing  so  two  or  three  times  a  year — yet, 
if  all  reports  were  true,  there  were  some  sent  there 
who  never  came  out  again.  Moreover,  few  who  were 
committed  could  ever  learn  the  reason  whereof  until 
they  were  ultimately  released,  and  no  communication 
whatever,  except  by  stealth  and  great  good  fortune 
could  be  made  with  the  outer  world.  From  the  time 
the  gates  closed  on  them  they  were  lost  to  that  outer 
world  for  the  period — long  or  short — which  they 
passed  there.  This  knowledge  alone,  without  the  aid  of 
time  and  fiction,  was,  indeed,  sufficient  to  make  Elphin- 
ston  gasp. 

"  When,"  he  asked,  after  another  pause  for  reflec- 
tion on  the  state  in  which  he  now  found  himself,  "does 
that  lettre  de  cachet  come  into  operation — when  do 
you  propose  to  put  it  into  force  ?" 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  Carvel,  with  a  swift  glance  at 
him  and  another  at  the  man  standing  behind,  "it  has 
come  into  operation ;  it  is  already  in  force." 

"You  mean ?" 

"  I  mean  that  you  have  surrendered  yourself  with- 
out having  to  be  sought  for — without  having  to  be 
arrested.  Please  to  consider  it  in  that  light,  mon- 
sieur." 


THE   BASTILLE.  22Q 

"  To  consider  it  in  the  light  that  I  am  to  be  con- 
veyed to  the  Bastille  from  here — at  once?" 

"  If  monsieur  pleases.  Though  not  at  once — not 
this  immediate  instant.  Monsieur  de  Launey  prefers 
to  receive  those  who  are  sent  to  him  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  That  is  his  hour  of  reception." 

Again  Bertie  paused  an  instant,  then  said : 

"  In  such  case  I  may  advise  my  friends  of  this  de- 
tention. It  will  ease  their  minds — and  it  can  be  done 
before  eight  o'clock.  It  is  now  scarcely  midnight." 

"  I  regret  to  have  to  say  No,  monsieur,"  and  Bertie 
started  at  his  reply.  "  Such  would  be  against  all  order, 
all  rule.  From  the  moment  the  persons  named  in  the 
lettres  de  cachet  are  in  our  hands  they  can  have  no 
further  communication  with  their  friends." 

"What  if  I  refuse  to  comply  with  your  demands — 
with  the  demands  of  that  lettre  de  cachet  ?  What  then, 
I  say  ? " 

"Monsieur  is  here,"  the  exempt  replied,  "that  is 
sufficient.  It  is  too  late  for  him  now  to  retreat.  We 
are  furnished  with  attendants  for  escorting  to  the  Bas- 
tille those  who  are  arrested  ;  monsieur  will  perceive  it 
would  be  vain  for  him  to  contend  against  us.  There 
are  at  the  present  moment  half-a-dozcn  such  attendants 
in  this  house." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Bertie,  "  I  will  not  contend.  Some 
absurd  mistake  has  been  made  that  will  be  rectified  as 
soon  as  I  have  seen  the  Governor." 

"  Sans  doute"  replied  the  exempt ;  "  meanwhile  let 
me  suggest  to  monsieur  that  he  should  rest  until  it  is 
necessary  to  set  out.  He  may  yet  have  some  hours  of 
refreshing  sleep." 

"  I  do  not  desire  to  sleep,"  Bertie  said,  "  only  to  be 
left  alone.  Is  that  impossible,  too  ?" 


230 


DENOUNCED. 


"  By  no  means.  We  have  a  room  here  in  which 
monsieur  may  remain  at  his  ease.  But,"  and  he  pointed 
to  the  labelled  swords  hanging  on  the  walls,  "  it  is  our 
habit  to  disembarrass  all  who  are  brought  here  of  their 
weapons.  Those  who  are  arrested  at  their  own  houses 
or  lodgings  leave  them  in  custody  there.  But  mon- 
sieur may  rest  assured  of  his  weapon  being  quite  safe. 
If  he  comes  out  to-morrow  or — or — or — a  month  later, 
say,  it  will  be  at  his  service." 

"  If,"  replied  Bertie,  taking  off  his  diamond-cut  ci- 
vilian sword,  "  it  had  been  the  weapon  of  my  profes- 
sion, you  should  never  have  had  it.  As  it  is — take  it." 

"  Keep  it  carefully,"  said  Carvel  to  his  men,  "  until 
Monsieur  le  Capitaine  returns.  I  guarantee  you  'twill 
not  be  long  ere  he  does  so.  I  myself  believe,  monsieur, 
a  mistake  has  been  made.  'Tis  not  with  such  metal 
as  you  that  Madame  la  Bastille  is  ordinarily  stuffed." 

After  this,  and  on  receiving  Bertie's  word  of  honour 
that  he  had  no  other  weapon  of  any  kind,  knife  nor 
pistol,  about  him,  he  was  shown  into  a  room  at  the  back 
of  the  house,  where  the  exempt  told  him  he  would 
be  quite  undisturbed — a  room  the  window  of  which, 
he  noticed,  was  cross-barred,  and  with,  outside  the 
window,  a  high  blank  wall.  Here  he  passed  the  night 
in  reflections  of  the  most  melancholy  nature,  wonder- 
ing and  wondering  again  and  again  on  what  unknown 
possibility  could  have  led  to  this  new  phase  in  his  ex- 
istence. At  one  moment — so  far  afield  did  he  have  to 
go  to  seek  for  some  cause  for  his  arrest — he  mused,  if 
by  any  chance  Fordingbridge  could  have  come  to 
Paris  and,  exercising  some  to  him  unknown  influence, 
have  procured  the  lettre  de  cachet.  Yet  he  was  obliged 
to  discard  this  idea  from  his  mind  as  he  had  discarded 
others,  when  he  reflected  that  nothing  was  more  un- 


THE   BASTILLE.  2-r 

likely  than  that  the  minister  of  the  King  would  have 
signed  an  order  for  the  incarceration  of  one  English- 
man  at  the  request  of  another.  But,  with  this  conjec- 
ture dismissed,  he  had  to  content  himself  and  remain 
as  much  in  the  dark  as  before. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  exempt  came  to  him  and  told 
him  that  it  was  time  to  set  out. 

"A  coach  is  ready,  monsieur,"  he  said,  "  all  is  now 
prepared.  Would  you  desire  to  make  any  toilette  be- 
fore your  departure  ? " 

Bertie  said  he  would,  and  when  he  had  done  this, 
laving  his  face  and  washing  his  hands  in  a  basin 
brought  him  by  two  of  Carvel's  attendants,  he  an- 
nounced that  he  was  prepared  to  accompany  him. 

"  Perhaps  when  I  have  seen  the  Governor  of  the 
Bastille,"  he  said,  "I  shall  better  understand  why  I 
am  confided  to  his  keeping." 

To  which  once  more  the  other  replied,  "  Sans  doute." 
Everything  being  therefore  ready,  Carvel  and  El- 
phinston   entered  the  coach,  while,  of  four  men  who 
had  appeared  on  the  scene  that  morning,  two  went  in- 
side with  them,  and  the  others,  mounting  horses,  rode 
on  either  side  of  the  vehicle.     In  this  way  they  pro- 
gressed through  the  small  portion  of  the  city  necessary 
to  be  traversed,  arriving  at  the  fortress  exactly  as  the 
great  clock  over  the  doorway — decorated  with  a  bas 
relief  representing  two   slaves   manacled   together — 
struck  eight.     That  their  destination  was  apparent  to 
those  members  of  the  populace  by  whom  they  passed 
it  was  easy  to  perceive.     Women  and  men,  hurrying 
to  their  shops  and   places  of  business,  regarded  the 
party  with  glances  which   plainly   showed  that  they 
knew  whither   they  were  going,  the  former  doing  so 
with  terrified  and  uneasy  looks,  the  latter  according 


232 


DENOUNCED. 


to  their  disposition.  Of  these,  some  laughed  and  made 
jeering  allusions  to  the  morning  ride  which  the  gentle- 
man was  taking;  some  frowned  with  disapproval ;  and 
some  there  were  who  muttered  to  one  another,  "  How 
long?  How  long  shall  we  groan  under  the  tyranny  of 
our  masters?"  while  others  answered,  "Not  for  ever ! 
It  cannot  be  for  ever,  though  the  good  God  alone 
knows  when  the  end  will  come.  Perhaps  not  even  in 
our  day ! " 

"  Descend,  monsieur,"  said  the  exempt,  as  the 
coach  drew  up;  then,  turning  to  some  sentinels  within 
the  gate  which  opened  to  receive  them,  he  remarked, 
'  Couvrez-vous,  messieurs." 

Surprised  at  this  order,  which  Bertie  did  not  under- 
stand, he  glanced  at  the  soldiers  standing  about  and 
observed  that,  as  he  approached  them,  they  removed 
their  hats  from  their  heads  and  placed  them  before 
their  faces  until  he  had  passed  by,  so  that  they  could 
by  no  means  have  seen  what  his  appearance  was  like. 
And  to  the  inquiring  look  which  he  directed  to  his 
captain,  the  exempt  replied,  with  a  slight  laugh : 

"  Madame  la  Bastille  endeavours  ever  to  be  a  polite 
hostess.  She  thinks  it  not  well  that  these  fellows, 
who  are^not  always  in  her  service,  should  be  able  after- 
wards to  recognise  her  guests  when  they  have  quitted 
her  hospitable  roof.  Vraiment !  her  manners  are  of 
the  most  finished.  Come,  Monsieur  Elphinston,  Jour- 
dan  de  Launey  attends  us.*  He  rises  ever  at  seven, 
so  as  to  welcome  those  who  arrive  early.  Come,  I 
beg." 

*  Governor  of  the  Bastille  from  1718  to  1749,  and  father  of  the 
last  governor  of  that  prison,  Le  Marquis  Bernard  Rene  Jourdan  de 
Launey,  who  was  brutally  murdered  by  the  populace  on  the  fall  of 
the  Bastille  in  1789. 


THE   BASTILLE.  233 

Following,  therefore,  his  guide,  and  followed  by 
the  men  who  had  escorted  them,  Bertie  crossed  a 
drawbridge  and  a  courtyard,  and  then  arrived  at  a 
flight  of  stone  stairs  let  into  the  wall,  at  which  was 
stationed  an  officer  handsomely  dressed,  who,  on  see- 
ing Elphinston,  bowed  politely  to  him  and  requested 
that  he  would  do  him  the  honour  to  accompany  him  to 
the  Governor.  Then,  turning  round  on  the  exempt's 
followers  who  came  behind  them,  he  said  in  a  very 
different  tone: 

"  Stay  where  you  are.  Do  you  suppose  we  require 
your  services  to  welcome  the  arrivals  ?  And  for  you, 
Monsieur  1'Exempt,  we  will  rejoin  you  later."  Whereon 
he  opened  a  small  door  off  the  staircase  and  led  Bertie 
into  a  room. 

A  room  which  astonished  the  young  man  as  he 
stepped  into  it ;  for,  although  he  had  often  talked  with 
people  in  Paris  who  had  been  imprisoned  in  the  Bas- 
tille, and  had  heard  that  some  parts  of  it  were  sumptu- 
ously furnished,  he  had  not  imagined  that  even  the 
Governor  possessed  such  an  apartment  as  this.  It 
was,  indeed,  so  large  as  to  be  almost  a  hall,  though 
the  gorgeous  hangings  of  yellow  damask  fringed  with 
silver  and  with  lace  made  it  look  smaller,  while  at  the 
same  time  they  imparted  a  brilliancy  to  the  vastness 
of  the  room ;  and  some  cabinets,  bureaux,  aud  couches 
distributed  about  also  served  to  give  it  a  comfortable 
appearance.  In  front  of  a  blazing  fire— so  great,  in- 
deed, that  the  wonder  was  that  any  mortal  could  ap- 
proach near  it— there  stood,  warming  his  hands,  the 
Governor,  De  Launey  himself,  while  seated  close  by 
at  a  table  covered  with  papers  was  a  miserable-look- 
ing person  who  was  engaged  in  writing. 

No  man,  possibly,  ever  presented  a  greater  con- 


234 


DENOUNCED. 


trast  between  his  own  appearance  and  the  dreaded 
position  which  he  occupied  than  did  Jourdan  de 
Launey,  then  an  old  man  approaching  his  end.  He 
was  very  thin  and  very  bald,  with  beady  black  eyes 
and  a  rosy  face  which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  ex- 
treme good  humour,  while  that  which  rivetted  the  at- 
tention of  everyone  who  saw  him  for  the  first  time 
was  the  extraordinary  shaking,  or  palsy,  that  possessed 
him  always.  Even  now,  as  he  stood  before  the  huge, 
roaring  fire,  holding  out  the  palms  of  his  hands  to  it 
and  lifting  first  one  foot  and  then  another  to  its 
warmth,  he  shook  and  shivered  so  that  he  seemed  as 
though  dying  of  cold. 

To  him  the  handsomely  apparelled  officer — whom 
Bertie  soon  learned  bore  the  rank  of  the  "  King's  Lieu- 
tenant of  his  Majesty's  fortress  of  the  Bastille  " — ad- 
dressed himself,  saying  that  the  Captain  Elphinston 
had  arrived;  whereon  De  Launey  turned  his  back  to 
the  fire,  regarded  Bertie  for  a  moment,  and  then  held 
out  a  long,  white,  shivering  hand,  which  the  other,  as  he 
took  it,  thought  might  well  have  belonged  to  a  corpse. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  extreme  sweetness, 
though  somewhat  shaken  by  his  tremblings,  "  you  are 
very  welcome,  though  I  fear  this  abode  may  scarcely 
be  so  to  you.  Yet  I  beg  of  you  to  believe  that  what 
can  be  done  to  put  you  at  your  ease  and  make  you 
comfortable  shall  be  done.  Moreover,  permit  me  to 
tell  you  that  which  I  tell  all  my  visitors  who  are  not 
of  the  lower  classes,  nor  murderers  and  ruffians,  who 
need  not  to  be  considered,  that  your  visit  here  by  no 
means  brings  with  it  a  loss  of  self-respect  or  of  social 
position.  The  Bastille  is  not  a  prison,  as  the  canaille 
think;  is  not  Bicetre  nor  even  Vincennes;  it  is  a  place 
where  gentlemen  are  simply  detained  at  the  pleasure 


THE   BASTILLE.  235 

of  his  Majesty,  and  when  they  go  forth  they  go  un- 
stained. If  you  will  remember  that,  Monsieur  le 
Capitaine,"  he  continued  with  increased  sweetness  of 
voice,  "  you  will,  I  think,  repine  less  at  our  hospi- 
tality." 

Bertie  bowed,  as,  indeed,  he  could  not  but  do  to 
such  extreme  politeness,  no  matter  how  much  he  re- 
sented his  incarceration,  then  he  said: 

"  Sir,  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  civility.  Yet, 
monsieur,  if  you  would  add  to  it  by  telling  me  with 
what  I  am  charged  and  why  I  am  brought  here  at  all, 
you  would  greatly  increase  my  obligation." 

"  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,"  replied  the  Governor,  "  I 
regret  to  refuse — but  it  is  impossible.  That  you  can- 
not know  until  you  appear  before  the  Lieutenant  of 
the  Civil  Government,  or  Examiner,  who  comes  here 
at  periods  to  examine  our  visitors.  Then,  by  the  ques- 
tions he  will  ask,  you  will  undoubtedly  be  able  to  sur- 
mise with  what  you  are  charged." 

"And  when  will  he  come,  monsieur?" 

"  I  know,"  he  replied,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
which  so  blended  into  one  of  his  shivers  that  it  was 
almost  imperceptible,  "  no  more  than  you  do.  He 
comes  when  it  pleases  him,  or,  perhaps,  I  might  more 
truthfully  say,  when  he  has  time,  and  then  he  interro- 
gates those  whom,  also,  it  pleases  him.  Sometimes  it 
is  our  latest  guest" — De  Launey  never  by  any  chance 
used  the  word  "  prisoner" — "  sometimes  those  who 
have  been  here  for  years.  And  some  there  are  who 
have  been  here  for  many — but  no  matter !  "  Then, 
turning  to  the  King's  Lieutenant,  he  bade  that  officer 
give  him  Captain  Elphinston's  mittimus,  or  the  stamped 
letter  containing  the  order  for  his  reception  and  se- 
curity. 

16 


236 


DENOUNCED. 


This  letter  he  read  carefully,  during  which  time  it 
shook  so  in  his  palsied  hands  that  Bertie  could  not  but 
wonder  how  he  could  distinguish  the  characters  in  it; 
after  which  he  looked  up  with  his  good-humoured 
smile  and  said : 

"  Sir,  I  felicitate  you.  You  are  of  the  first  class  of 
guests;  beyond  restriction  you  will  have  little  to  com- 
plain of.  The  King" — and  he  raised  his  tottering  white 
hand  to  his  forehead  as  though  saluting  that  monarch 
in  person — "  is,  you  know,  your  host ;  your  pension 
will  be  of  the  best.  Secretary,"  he  said,  turning  round 
sharply  to  the  man  at  the  table,  "  read  to  the  captain 
the  bill  of  fare  for  the  principal  guests." 

This  man,  who  seemed,  at  least,  to  derive  no  great 
good  from  his  position,  seeing  that  he  was  miserably 
clad  in  an  old  suit  of  ragged  Nismes  serge,  a  pair  of 
old  blue  breeches  loose  at  the  knees,  and  a  wig  which 
had  scarcely  any  hair  left  on  it,  began  to  read  from  a 
paper,  when,  to  Bertie's  astonishment,  a  very  different 
voice  from  the  soft  tones  he  had  recently  been  listen- 
ing to  issued  from  the  Governor's  lips;  and  in  a  harsh, 
commanding  way  De  Launey  exclaimed : 

"  Fellow,  stand  up  before  gentlemen  !  Mort  de  ma 
vie !  do  you  dare  to  sit  and  read  before  us  ?"  Whereon 
the  wretched  creature  sprang  up  as  though  under  the 
lash,  and  began  hastily  to  gabble  out : 

"  Dejeuner  ct  lafourchette.  Potage.  A  quarter  of  a 
fowl  or  a  slice  of  ox  beef.  A  pie,  a  sheep's  tongue  or 
a  ragout,  biscuits,  and  rennets.  A  quarter  septier  of 
wine,  to  suffice  also  for  dinner  and  supper.  Dinner : 
A  loaf,  soup,  petite  pate's,  roast  veal  or  mutton,  pigeon 
or  pullet,  or  beef  and  toasted  bread.  Supper:  A  fish 
of  the  season,  or  a  bird  and  a  chipped  loaf.  By  order 
of  the  King,  to  the  extent  of  150  sols  a  day." 


THE   BASTILLE. 

As  he  read  from  his  paper — to  which  the  visitor 
paid  but  little  attention,  since  he  cared  nothing  about 
the  meals  he  might  receive— De  Launey  nodded  and 
wagged  his  head  with  approbation,  and,  when  he  fin- 
ished, exclaimed : 

"A  noble  King!  Fellow,"  to  the  secretary,  "be- 
gone !  Go  seek  the  turnkey,  Bluet,  and  bid  him  pre- 
pare for  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  the  second  chamber  of 
the  chapeli" 

"  The  second  chamber  of  the  chapel !  The  best 
apartment !  " 

"Man  Dieu ! "  exclaimed  De  Launey,  while  he 
shook  terribly,  "  do  my  infirmities  render  me  unin- 
telligible? Ay,  the  second  chamber;  and  for  you,  if 
ever  you  misunderstand  me  again,  the  vault  under  the 
ditch  where  the  malefactors  lie!"  Then,  putting  out 
his  long,  white,  trembling  hand — while  all  the  time  he 
smiled  blandly — he  nipped  the  man's  arm  between 
two  fingers  and  repeated,  "Where  the  malefactors  lie! 
Where  the  man  was  eaten  alive  by  rats !  Tu  comp rends, 
chcr  ami?  -  Go.  The  second  chamber  in  the  chapel 
for  Monsieur  le  Capitaine.  Va!" 

The  man  left  the  room  quickly,  casting  a  glance, 
half  of  terror  and  half  of  hate,  on  De  Launey,  who, 
after  regarding  him  till  he  was  gone,  turned  round  to 
Elphinston  with  his  pleasant  smile,  and  said,  "A  vile 
wretch  that.  Yet  a  useful  one,  and  bound  to  me  by 
the  deepest  ties  of  gratitude.  Sent  here  by  the  Jesuits 
some  years  ago.  Ha!  ha!  The  holy  fathers  know 
how  to  obtain  the  lettres  de  cachet !  for  an  unspeakable 
crime— the  corruption  of  a  nun  to  Protestantism, 
saved  his  life  by  telling  them  that  he  was  the  man 
who  had  been  eaten  by  the  rats,  though  'twas  another. 
Thus  I  bound  him  to  me  for  ever.  He  writes  a  most 


238 


DENOUNCED. 


beautiful  hand,  knows  the  history  of  every  man  in  the 
Bastille,  and — ha  !  ha  ! — draws  no  recompense.  The 
Inquisition  injured  my  family  once — they  burnt  an  aunt 
of  mine  in  Seville — therefore  Hove  to  thwart  them." 

Bertie  inclined  his  head  to  show  that  he  heard  the 
Governor's  words;  then  the  latter  continued  in  his 
mellifluous  strains : 

"  Now,  Captain  Elphinston,  I  must  tell  you  that 
you  should  try  and  make  yourself  as  comfortable  as 
possible  here.  Above  all,  do  not  dream  of  an  escape. 
Many  have  done  so ;  few  have  succeeded — the  Abbe" 
du  Bacquoy  alone  of  late  years.*  For  the  walls  are 
thick — oh,  so  thick  ! — between  each  room  there  is  a 
space  of  many  feet — the  windows  are  barred ;  so,  too, 
are  the  fireplaces ;  the  ceilings  cannot  be  reached  by 
two  men  standing  one  on  the  other's  shoulders. 
Moreover,  a  visitor  seen  outside  his  window,  or  on  the 
roofs  or  walls,  could  not  escape  the  eyes  of  the  sen- 
tries, and  would  be  shot — poof  ! — like  a  sparrow. 
Monsieur,  let  me  beg  you,  therefore,  to  content  your- 
self with  our  hospitality.  Later  on — if  you  are  not 
recalled — we  will  perhaps  give  you  some  companions; 
we  wish  our  guests  to  have  the  enjoyment  of  society. 
Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  here  is  Bluet,  who  will  conduct 
you  to  your  apartment.  Au  revoir.  I  trust  sincerely 
you  will  be  at  your  ease." 

Again  the  ice-cold,  shivering  hand  clasped  that  of 
Elphinston,  De  Launey  bowed  to  him  with  as  much 
grace  as  though  he  were  taking  part  in  a  minuet,  and, 
following  the  turnkey,  who  had  come  in  with  the  secre- 
tary, the  prisoner  went  forth  to  his  chamber. 

Descending  the  stairs  and  out  by  the  small  door  in 

*  Latucle's  successful  escape  was  made  some  years  after  the  date 
of  this  narrative — viz.,  in  1750. 


THE   BASTILLE. 


239 


the  wall,  he  passed  again  through  the  Corps  de  Garde, 
all  the  members  of  which  once  more  instantly  took  off 
their  hats  and  held  them  before  their  faces.  Then  he 
was  led  across  a  great  court  and  in  at  a  square  door 
painted  green,  and  so  up  three  small  steps  on  to  a 
great  staircase,  at  the  bottom  of  which  were  two  huge 
iron  doors  that  clanged  with  an  ominous  sound  be- 
hind him.  At  the  head  of  this  staircase  were  three 
more  gates,  one  after  the  other — wooden  gates  cov- 
ered with  iron  plates — and  when  these  were  locked 
behind  Elphinston  also,  another  iron-bound  door  was 
opened,  and  he  stood  within  a  great  vaulted  room, 
some  sixty  feet  long  and  about  fifteen  in  breadth,  and 
the  same  in  height. 

"Voila!"  exclaimed  the  secretary,  "behold  the 
second  room  of  the  chapel.  Mon  Dieu  !  a  fine  apart- 
ment for  an  untitled  guest !  But  the  old  animal  will 
have  his  way.  Yet,  why  this  room  of  princes  ?  'Twas 
here  the  man  with  the  iron  mask  died,  they  say ;  here 
that  the  Duke  of  Luxembourg  and  the  Marshals  de 
Biron  and  Bassompiere  once  reposed." 

"At  least,"  said  Bertie,  casting  his  eyes  round  the 
vault — for  such  it  was — "  I  trust  there  was  more  ac- 
commodation for  those  illustrious  personages  than 
there  appears  for  me.  Am  I  to  sleep  on  the  floor,  and 
lie  on  it  also  in  the  day  ?  There  is  neither  bed  nor 
chair  here." 

"  All  in  good  time,  brave  captain,"  replied  Bluet, 
the  turnkey,  who  even  at  this  early  period  of  the 
morning  appeared  to  be  half  drunk — "all  in  good  time, 
noble  captain.  I  shall  make  your  room  a  fitting  bou- 
doir for  a  duchess  ere  night.  Have  no  fear." 

"  Now,"  said  the  secretary,  "  give  up  all  you  have 
about  you." 


240 


DENOUNCED. 


"  What ! " 

"  All,  everything,"  replied  the  other.  "  Oh,  be 
under  no  apprehension  ;  we  do  not  rob  the  King's 
guests  ;  oh,  no  !  Every  visitor  to  this  delectable  cas- 
tle has  to  do  the  same,  even  though  he  be  a  prince  of 
the  blood.  I  shall  give  you  a  note  for  what  you  hand 
me,  and  on  your  sortie  you  will  see  all  is  as  you  handed 
to  me.  Yet  the  old  cochon,  De  Launey,  loveth  trinkets 
for  his  wife — young  enough  to  be  his  daughter  ;  if  you 
have  a  ring  or  a  jewel,  you  can  part  with  it ;  it  will  be 
to  your  advantage." 

"  Friend,"  said  Elphinston,  "  I  am  a  soldier  who 
has  fought  in  hard  wars,  sometimes  without  even  re- 
ceiving a  sol  of  any  pay — as  in  the  last  campaign  in 
Scotland — what  should  I  have  ?  See,  I  have  no  rings 
on  my  fingers,  no  watch  to  my  pocket,  no  solitaire  to 
my  cravat.  Yet,  here  is  my  purse  with  a  few  Louis 
d'ors  and  one  gold  quadruple  pistole;  count  those,  if 
you  will,"  and  he  pitched  it  into  the  secretary's  ragged 
hat  as  he  spoke. 

The  man  told  over  the  coins,  muttering  that  the 
large  piece  was  bien  forte  et  trebuchante,  then  made  an 
accurate  note  of  them  and  gave  the  list  to  Bertie. 
"All,"  he  said  again,  "will  be  returned  you  on  your 
exit,  unless  you  choose  to  give  them  to  Bluet  and  me. 
We  get  little  enough,  though  God  knows  we  have  also 
little  enough — at  least,  I  have — of  opportunities  for 
spending.  Yet  even  here  one  may  have  his  little 
pleasures,"  and  he  winked  at  Bertie,  who  turned  from 
him  in  disgust. 

"  No  trinkets  on  the  bosom,"  he  went  on  ques- 
tioningly,  "  no  lockets,  nor  crosses,  nor  reliquaries  of 
saints  ?  Humph  !  " 

"  There  is,"  replied  Elphinston,  "  on  my  breast  a 


THE   BASTILLE.  241 

bag  of  satin,  in  which  is  a  lock  of  hair— the  hair  of  the 
woman  whom  I  love.  Fellow,  do  you  think  I  will  let 
you  take  that,  or  even  fasten  your  foul  eyes  on  it ! 
Ask  me  no  more  ;  otherwise  1  will  speak  to  the  Gov- 
ernor." 

"It  is  against  the  rules,"  said  the  other,  "quite 
against  the  rules,  yet " 

"  Curse  the  rules  !  " 

"  Yet,"  he  said,  "  so  that  when  you  leave  us  you 
will  give  me  one,  only  one  of  those  pieces,  I  will  not 
insist." 

"  Leave  me,"  said  Bertie,  and  his  voice  was  so  stern 
that,  followed  by  the  turnkey,  the  man  slunk  out  of 
the  room,  and  a  moment  afterwards  the  heavy  door 
was  locked  and  barred  on  him. 


CHAPTER   XXIJ. 

DESPAIR  ! 

LEFT  alone  at  last,  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
huge  chamber,  or  vault,  his  mind  full  of  melancholy, 
heart-broken  reflections. 

"  My  God,  my  God  !  "  he  muttered,  "  what  have  I 
done  that  thus  Thou  lettest  Thy  hand  fall  so  heavily 
on  me  ?  What  fresh  sin  committed,  that  this  fresh 
punishment  should  be  mine !  I  have  lost  the  one 
thing  I  cared  for  in  this  life,  lost  her ;  now  I  am  incar- 
cerated here  in  this  place  of  horror,  this  place  where 
men's  existences,  even  their  very  names,  are  forgotten 
as  much  as  though  they  had  lain  for  years  in  their 
graves;  this  place  which  may  be  my  grave."  Then,  a 
few  moments  later,  his  heart  and  courage  returned  to 
him,  and  he  murmured  to  himself  again : 

"Yet,  I  will  not  repine.  That  abject  creature 
spoke  of  others  who  had  been  here  and  yet  escaped, 
obtained  their  liberty,  all  but  him,  the  hapless  Masque 
de  Fer,  who  drew  his  last  breath  in  this  gloomy  dun- 
geon. Bassompiere,  Luxembourg,  De  Biron,  all  went 
forth  to  the  world  again.  How  many  men  have  I  not 
known  myself  who  have  been  here  ?  There  was  one, 
the  old  Comte  de  Tilly,  who  told  me  he  had  been  in- 
carcerated thirteen  times,  and  that,  whenever  he  saw 
the  exempts  in  the  street,  he  took  off  his  hat  to  them, 

242 


DESPAIR  ! 


243 


and  asked  if  by  any  chance  they  happened  to  be  seek- 
ing for  him.  And  these  walls,"  he  exclaimed,  looking 
up  at  the  blackened  sides  of  the  room,  "  seem  to  bear 
testimony  to  many  who  have  inhabited  the  place." 

They  did,  indeed ;  for,  written  all  over  the  grimy 
and  smoky  sides  of  the  vault,  were  records  left  by 
those  who  had  been  incarcerated.  In  one  part  of 
the  room  near  the  barred  fireplace,  through  which 
a  child  could  not  have  crept,  were  the  words : 
"  The  widow  Lailly  and  her  daughter  were  brought 
into  this  hell  on  the  27th  September,  1701 " ;  in  another 
place  was  the  name  of  a  Neapolitan  prince,  one  De 
Riccia,  with  his  remarkable  motto  beneath  it,  "  Empoi- 
sona  ove  Strangola."  And  there  were  scores  of  other 
names,  of  all  countries :  one,  that  of  the  Chevalier 
Lynch,  gentleman,  of  Sligo  in  Ireland;  another,  Jean 
Cronier,  redacteur,  "  Du  Burlesk  Gazette,"  Holland ; 
a  third,  Magdalen  de  St.  Michel,  while  in  a  different 
hand  underneath  was  written,  "  who  slew  her  husband, 
a  King's  sailor;"  yet  another,  "the  Cure  de  Mery, 
falsely  accused  of  rioting  and  drunkenness";  and 
many  more.  And,  still  continuing  his  sad  patrol  of 
the  room,  he  saw  that  at  each  corner  of  it  were  statues 
of  the  four  Evangelists,  so  that  he  understood  now 
why  it  should  be  called  the  "  Room  of  the  Chapel," 
though  why  the  "  second  room  "  he  never  learned. 

"So,"  he  said,  as  he  mused  in  his  misery,  "so  this 
place  has  been  holy  ground,  consecrated.  Heavens ! 
was  ever  a  place  of  prayer  turned  to  such  vile  use 
since  the  Temple  became  a  den  of  thieves  ?" 

As  thus  he  pondered  he  heard  the  doors  outside 
clanging,  and  a  moment  afterwards,  the  unbarring  of 
the  chapel  door  and  the  harsh  grating  of  the  key  in 
the  lock,  a  sound  which  was  followed  by  the  entrance 


244 


DENOUNCED. 


of  the  turnkey,  Bluet — who  appeared  now  more  drunk 
than  before — and  another  man,  also  a  turnkey. 

"  Ha !  "  said  the  former  with  a  hiccough,  "  now  to 
arrange  the  boudoir.  Georges,  disgorge  thy  burden 
and  be  gone.  I  have  alone  to  do  with  Monsieur  le 
Capitaine,"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  reeled  across  the  room 
with  a  small  folding  table  he  had  brought  with  him 
and  placed  it  under  the  barred  and  latticed  window, 
where  the  light  streamed  on  it.  Meanwhile,  the  other 
turnkey,  Georges,  had  thrown  down  a  huge  bundle  of 
what  was  evidently  bedding,  and  departed,  to  return 
again  a  few  moments  later,  with  a  tray,  on  which  were 
several  dishes. 

"  Voilb  !  "  Bluet  muttered  as  he  arranged  the  table, 
"  behold  your  first  meal  as  guest  of  Madame  la  Bastille. 
A  soup — of  lentils — ban!  bon!  some  cockscombs  in 
vinegar — pas  mal  (a!  some  chip  bread,  beef  full  of 
gravy,  with  a  garniture  of  parsley.  Also  the  quarter 
septier  of  wine — and  good,  too,  you  see,  of  Bourgogne. 
Now  for  more  furniture  to  accommodate  our  new 
guest."  Whereon  he  reeled  off  to  the  passage  and 
brought  back  a  sound  wooden  chair,  which  he  placed 
by  the  table,  exclaiming,  "  Voila!  monsieur  est  servir." 

Seeing  that  the  fellow,  in  spite  of  his  drunkenness, 
was  doing  his  best  to  treat  him  well,  and  reflecting 
also  that  much  of  any  comfort  he  was  li'kely  to  obtain 
might  depend  on  him,  Bertie  resolved  to  make  a  friend 
of  Bluet  if  possible ;  so,  sitting  down  to  the  meal,  he 
made  a  semblance  of  eating  it ;  and  as  he  did  so  he 
said : 

"  If  I  did  not  perceive  that  already  you  have  been 
making  free  enough  with  the  drink,  I  would  ask  you 
to  join  me.  This  great  jar,"  touching  the  quarter 
septier,  which  contained  half  a  gallon  at  least,  "is 


DESPAIR  !  2,t 

more  than  I  can  consume  in  a  week,  yet  you,  I  judge, 
could  drink  it  all  at  a  sitting." 

"  Facilement.  I  often  do.  And  the  wine  is  of  the 
best.  When  St.  Mars  was  governor  here,  he  robbed 
the  visitors,  they  say ;  took  the  King's  money  for 
the  best  and  gave  the  worst.  De  Launey,  now,  is 
different." 

"  He  is  more  generous,  then  ? " 

"  Nay,  more  timorous.  For,  observe,  he  fears  the 
King  should  find  out  he  is  being  hoodwinked.  Yet, 
all  do  not  drink  nor  eat  alike  here.  Some  get  only  a 
cliopine  of  the  thinnest,  one  plat  to  each  meal,  coarse 
bread,  and  no  fruit.  It  depends  on  the  degree  of  the 
personage,  also  the  probability  of  the  length  of  his 
visit.  Because,  you  see,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  some 
seem  never  likely  to  depart — and  there  are  many  such, 
I  assure  you,  who  become  forgotten ;  there  is  no  hope 
they  will  ever  go  forth  ;  they  have  no  money  to  give 
away  in  fees — for  if  a  visitor  wishes  to  reward  us  for 
our  little  cares,  he  may  make  an  order  on  De  Lau- 
ney to  distribute  some  of  the  money  he  holds ;  they 
become  the  guest  who  has  outstayed  his  welcome.  You 
understand,  monsieur  ? " 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  drunken  gravity,  and, 
although  in  drink,  showed  so  much  intelligence  that 
Bertie  guessed  this  was  the  man's  normal  condition. 
Also,  the  latter  observed  that  the  state  he  was  in  by 
no  means  prevented  him  from  being  able  to  fulfil  any 
duty  he  had  to  perform.  Indeed,  during  the  time  he 
had  been  enlightening  Bertie  as  to  the  customs  of  the 
Bastille,  he  had  been  arranging  in  a  corner  of  the  room 
some  furniture  the  other  man  had  come  back  with,  as 
well  as  that  which  he  had  originally  brought.  Thus  he 
had  fitted  up  a  little  truckle  bedstead  in  one  of  the 


246 


DENOUNCED. 


corners  near  the  fireplace  and  under  the  statue  of  St. 
Matthew  which  stood  in  the  wall  above,  a  bedstead 
which  had  some  curtains  of  dirty  flowered  stuff,  with  a 
bag  of  straw  for  a  mattress,  and  also  a  blanket  as 
dirty  as  the  curtains,  and  full  of  holes,  and  a  quilt  of 
flock.  Likewise  he  had  brought  in  a  great  pitcher  of 
water,  a  ewer  and  mug,  all  of  which  were  of  pewter. 

"  Avec  fa,"  he  said,  regarding  these  things  with  a 
look  of  satisfaction,  "  monsieur  is  well  provided.  Oh, 
well  provided  !  Now  for  this  you  must  pay  six  livres 
a  month — none  of  which  comes  to  me,  alas ! — and  if 
you  wish  more  it  can  be  hired.  Yet,  faith  !  it  is  a 
chamber  for  a  King.  Shall  I  send  for  a  fagot  and 
make  a  fire  to  purge  the  air  of  the  room  ? " 

"  Nay,"  said  poor  Bertie,  "  it  is  very  well.  Yet  I 
would  that  the  chamber  was  not  so  vast ;  it  is  large, 
and  draughty,  and  dark.  Can  I  not  be  removed  into 
a  better  one — at  least,  a  smaller  one  ? " 

"  That  will  come  if  you  remain  with  us.  Length- 
ened sojourns  are  not  made  in  this  one.  So  you  may 
content  yourself  with  this,  namely,  while  you  are  here 
— in  this  apartment — you  may  go  out  at  any  moment. 
Now,  I  have  other  guests  to  see  to ;  I  will  return  later 
with  the  dinner.  Adieu,  monsieur,"  and  he  went  away, 
banging,  and  locking,  and  barring  the  heavy  door  be- 
hind him. 

Through  the  glazed  window  above,  which  had  two 
great  shutters  to  it  that  were  always  closed,  but  had 
an  iron  gate  or  smaller  window  within  them,  while 
outside  was  a  green  wooden  lattice,  Bertie  could  see 
that  the  sun  was  shining ;  nay,  a  ray  or  so  even  forced 
its  way  through  the  iron  gate  and  illuminated  a  foot's 
breadth  all  along  the  dungeon,  or  room.  In  one  way 
it  was,  perhaps,  not  very  welcome,  for  it  showed  plainly 


DESPAIR  !  247 

the  filthy  condition  of  the  floor,  all  incrusted  with 
dirt  as  it  was,  and  with  other  refuse,  such  as  small 
meat-bones,  fish-bones,  egg-shells,  and  pieces  of  bread- 
crust  trodden  into  it.  Yet,  also,  to  his  sad  heart  it 
brought  some  comfort ;  it  spoke  to  him  of  the  world 
without,  of  the  gay  streets  and  gardens  of  Paris;  of 
her,  his  love.  What  was  she  doing  now,  he  pondered ; 
would  she  soon  be  wondering  what  had  become  of  him, 
and  why,  as  once  before — so  long,  so  long  ago,  as  now 
it  seemed — he  had  again  disappeared  from  her  and 
made  no  sign  ?  Or  would  he  be  free  before  Thursday 
came  again  ? 

He  thought,  looking  round  the  gloomy  chapel, 
while  he  considered  and  mused  on  these  things,  that 
his  head  might  reach  that  little  iron  gate,  or  grille,  in 
the  shutters  if  he  placed  upon  the  table  the  chair  and 
then  stood  on  that,  and  thus  he  would  be  able  to  ob- 
tain a  sight  of  what  was  outside.  So  he  set  to  work 
to  place  them  in  position,  and  then,  on  clambering  up, 
found  that  he  could  obtain  a  view  of  the  garden  of 
the  Bastille,  and,  owing  to  a  low-roofed  portion  of  the 
fortress  almost  immediately  in  front  of  him,  of  away 
beyond  into  the  city. 

In  the  garden  he  perceived  a  lady  walking,  accom- 
panied by  a  dog  that  seemed  from  its  action  to  be 
very  old,  for  it  moved  slowly  and  feebly  without  any 
gambols;  and  he  wondered  who  she  was,  and  if  she 
might  be  De  Launey's  wife,  who  was  "  young  enough 
to  be  his  daughter."     The  garden  itself,  he  could  also 
perceive,  since  the  chapel  was  no  higher  than  the  first 
floor,   formed   the  interior,   or    courtyard,  of   all 
towers  of  the  prison,  and  he  saw  that,  by  glancing  u 
wards,  the  windows  of  other  rooms,  or  cells,  were  vis 
ble  to  him.     Indeed,  not  only  were  they  visible,  but  so 


248  DENOUNCED. 

also  was  one  of  the  inmates,  who,  as  Bertie  observed 
him,  was  leaning  against  his  little  window  frame  with 
his  face  at  the  bars  as  though  to  catch  the  air.  He 
was  a  man  somewhat  over  middle  age,  with  scowling 
features  and  long,  unkempt  hair,  and  as  Bertie  re- 
garded him  he  saw  his  lips  moving  as  though  either  he 
was  talking  to  some  fellow-prisoner  within  the  room 
or  muttering  to  himself.  This  man  fascinated  Elphin- 
ston  so  that  he  could  not  remove  his  eyes  from  off  him 
— for  in  those  other  eyes  there  seemed  to  be  a  hell  of 
despair — and,  as  he  thus  looked,  the  man,  shifting  his 
gaze,  glanced  down  and  across,  and  so  saw  him  at  his 
lattice.  For  a  moment  he  stared  at  Bertie  and  then 
made  a  motion  to  him  with  his  finger — it  seemed  as 
though  to  bid  him  stay  where  he  was — and  then  dis- 
appeared from  the  window  to  return  a  moment  later 
with  a  little  piece  of  light  board  in  one  hand  to  which 
he  pointed  with  the  other. 

Made  more  curious  than  ever  by  this,  Elphinston 
continued  to  regard  him  and  his  actions  fixedly,  which 
were  as  follows  :  First  the  man  held  up  in  his  right 
hand — his  left  still  grasping  the  board — something 
that  appeared  like  a  piece  of  burnt  wood,  and  then, 
applying  it  to  the  board,  drew  on  it  the  letter  N. 
Pointing  to  it,  he  next  drew  the  letters  O,  U,  and  V, 
then  E,  then  A,  then  another  U,  until  at  last  he  had 
spelt  out  the  whole  of  the  word  Nouveau.  Next,  after 
a  glance  across  at  Bertie,  as  though  to  ask  if  he  under- 
stood, and  seeing  that  he  did,  he  again  went  on  with 
four  more  letters,  making  the  word  Venu,  and  care- 
fully finishing  the  sentence  by  drawing,  last  of  all,  a 
solitary  note  of  interrogation,  and  looking  over  to 
Bertie  as  though  awaiting  his  reply  to  the  question. 
Receiving  from  him  two  or  three  emphatic  nods  of  the 


DESPAIR ! 

head,  he  began  again,  and  this  time  produced  a  longer 
sentence,  which,  by  recollecting  each  word  as  it  had 
been  found,  Bertie  made  out  to  be  (in  French,  of 
course),  "  I  have  been  here  twenty-one  years." 

At  this  melancholy  information  he  tried  to  throw 
into  his  features — for  no  action  of  his  body  could  be 
at  all  apparent  to  the  man — as  much  sympathy  as  was 
possible,  whereon  the  other  again  pointed  to  his  board 
and  continued  with  his  letters  until  he  had  formed  the 
sentence,  "  Have  you  been  before  the  Judges?"  and 
receiving  a  negative  shake  from  Bertie's  head,  again 
worked  out,  "Nor  I, yet"  and  waited  as  though  to  see 
what  effect  this  stupendous  piece  of  information  might 
have  on  a  newly-arrived  prisoner. 

If  the  unhappy  man  desired  to  see  horror  depicted 
on  that  newcomer's  face — if  such  a  sight  could  be 
gratifying  to  him  who  had  lived  forgotten  there  so 
long,  without,  perhaps,  even  knowing  why  he  was  so 
detained,  he  must  indeed  have  been  gratified.  For  as 
that  terrible  sentence  came  out  letter  by  letter  on  the 
board,  Bertie  shrank  back  from  the  lattice,  while  his 
countenance  must  plainly  have  shown  to  the  other  the 
emotions  of  pity  mixed  with  dread  and  dismay  with 
which  the  communication  had  filled  him.  "Twenty- 
one  years,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  forgetting  even 
for  the  moment  his  new-found  acquaintance  opposite, 
"  twenty-one  years  without  knowing  what  he  is  charged 
with  ;  without  hope.  My  God!  what  has  his  life  been 
during  that  time ;  waiting,  waiting  always !  And  it 
may  be  so  with  me,"  he  thought,  shuddering  as  he  did 
so,  "  it  may  be  my  case.  I  am  twenty-six  years  old 
now ;  at  forty-seven  I  may  still  be  in  this  prison,  un- 
tried, uncondemned,  yet  unreleased— no  nearer  to  my 
freedom  than  now."  And  again  he  shuddered. 


250 


DENOUNCED. 


He  glanced  over  to  the  unhappy  prisoner  in  the 
opposite  tower  as  he  finished  these  reflections,  and 
saw  that  he  was  waiting  for  his  attention  to  begin  his 
letters  again.  And,  once  more  fascinated  by  their 
terrible  revelations,  he  watched  eagerly  as  the  next 
sentence  was  formed. 

Slowly  the  words  were  composed,  letter  by  letter; 
slowly  they  met  his  eyes,  and  seemed  to  numb  his  brain 
and  strike  a  chill  to  his  heart.  "I  am  not  the  worst 
case,"  the  prisoner  spelt  out.  "  Above  you  in  the 
Tour  de  la  Bertaudiere  is  one  who  has  been  here  for 
forty-two  years.  Untried  still !  "  Then,  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand,  the  man  vanished  from  his  window — per- 
haps because  he  heard  the  gaoler  coming  into  his 
room — and  Bertie  saw  him  no  more  that  day. 

Yet  that  which  he  had  gleaned  from  his  opposite 
neighbour  was  enough  to  furnish  him  with  sufficient 
food  for  miserable  reflections  all  through  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day,  and  far  into  the  night  when  he 
lay  sleepless  on  his  unclean  bed.  Bluet  had  visited 
him  twice  during  that  period,  bringing  him  two  more 
meals  —  each  good  enough  in  its  way,  and  with 
different  meats  at  each,  but  badly  cooked  ;  and  on  the 
second  occasion,  and  when  he  could  perceive  through 
the  lattice  that  night  was  coming  on,  the  turnkey  had 
offered  to  let  him  have  some  light  if  he  wished  it. 
High  up  above  the  latticed  window  there  was  an  iron 
socket  into  which  a  candle  could  be  fitted,  or  on  to 
which  a  lamp  might  be  swung,  and  Bluet  had  volun- 
teered to  bring  in  a  ladder  and  place  the  light  there  if 
Elphinston  desired  it.  But  he  replied,  "No, he  wanted 
nothing.  He  would  try  to  sleep  till  daybreak,  try  to 
rest.  The  day  had  been  long  enough  for  him  al- 
ready." 


DESPAIR!  2er 

"Ma  foil  sansdoute!"  the  fellow  replied,  he  seem- 
ing neither  more  nor  less  drunk  than  he  had  been  at 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  "  Sans  doute,  monsieur  is 
fatigued,  yet  he  must  not  lose  heart.  If  the  judges 
do  not  release  him  ere  long,  he  shall  be  moved  to 
another  chamber  where,  perhaps,  he  will  have  some 
society.  There  is  plenty  here.  Of  all  sorts.  Then 
monsieur  will  be  gay." 

"  Gay  !  "  exclaimed  Bertie.  "  Gay  !  In  this 
place  ? " 

"  And  why  not  ?  Oh,  figure  to  yourself,  there  is 
gaiety  here  and  to  suffice.  Hark  now  to  that !  Hark, 
I  say  ! "  and  at  the  moment  he  spoke  Bertie  heard  a 
voice  in  his  own  tongue  trolling  forth  a  drinking  song. 

"  Ha !  ha  !  Mon  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  the  turnkey,  "  it 
is  the  gallant  captain.  Also  a  captain  like  monsieur, 
but  of  the  road.  They  say  he  stopped  the  Cardinal's 
carriage  at  Fontainebleau  not  so  long  ago,  yet  this  he 
denies.  And  a  spy,  too,  of  England,  they  say.  He 
plays  the  big  game.  Mon  Dieu  !  listen  !  he  sings  well, 
though  I  understand  no  word  of  your  somewhat  severe 
and  sombre  tongue." 

Severe  and  sombre  though  it  might  be,  it  did  not 
sound  so  as  the  gallant  captain  shouted  forth  his 
drinking  song. 

"  He's  gay,"  said  Bluet ;  "  he  has  found  a  new  com- 
panion— one,  however,  who  will  scarce  join  in  his 
mirth.  A  miserable  creature  sent  in  by  the  priests,  a 
murderer,  they  hint.  Mon  Dieu  !  either  he  will  deso- 
late the  captain  or  the  captain  will  drive  him  mad  with 
his  carousings." 

After  which,  and  having  wished  Bertie  "  a  good-night 
and  good  repose,"  he  took  himself  off,  and,  ere  the  lat- 
ter slept,  he  could  have  sworn  he  heard  Bluet's  harsh 
17 


252 


DENOUNCED. 


voice  joining  in   a  song  with  the  captain,  though  this 
time  in  the  French  language. 

"  So,"  he  thought  to  himself  as,  after  having  knelt 
by  his  wretched  bed  and  prayed  for  mercy  from  his 
God,  he  flung  himself  upon  it,  "  so  'tis  to  this  pass  I 
am  brought — I,  who  have  served  the  French  King 
faithfully  for  years,  who  have  committed  no  crime 
against  him.  And  am  I  doomed  to  remain  here  for- 
gotten ?  Perhaps  be  like  that  other  one  with  whom  I 
communicated  to-day,  or  that  still  more  unhappy  man 
whose  life  has  been  spent  in  these  awful  walls.  Forty- 
two  years,  he  said  of  him — forty-two  years!"  And 
again  he  applied  that  second  case  to  himself  as  he  had 
done  the  first.  "  Forty-two  years  !  I  shall  be  then 
sixty-six.  All,  all  will  be  dead  and  gone.  My  mother 
long  since,  Kate  almost  of  a  certainty  ;  Douglas,  too  ; 
even  the  scoundrel  Fordingbridge  !  O  God  !  "  he 
cried,  wrought  up  by  these  reflections,  "  release  me 
from  this  place,  I  beseech  Thee,  release  me ;  even 
though  it  be  only  by  death.  Let  me  not  linger  on 
here  untried  for  a  fault  I  know  not  of,  uncondemned 
and  forgotten.  Take  my  life,  but  not  my  freedom 
while  I  live.  What  have  I  done  ?  What  have  I 
done  ? "  And  with  such  a  heart-broken  prayer  as  this 
on  his  lips  Bertie  Elphinston  fell  asleep  at  last,  if  that 
can  be  termed  sleep  which  was  no  more  than  a  dis- 
turbed forgetfulness — a  broken  slumber  from  which 
he  would  wake  with  a  start  as  some  sound  from  other 
parts  of  the  prison  penetrated  his  chamber,  or  a  rat 
would  scamper  across  his  bed  and  touch  his  hand  with 
its  foul,  dank  coat. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

AT    LAST. 

THE  days  went  on  slowly  and  without  anything  to 
distinguish  them  from  one  another,  until,  at  last,  it 
seemed  to  Bertie  in  his  dungeon  that  he  would  soon 
lose  count  of  them,  would  forget  how  many  had  passed 
since  first  he  entered  the  prison,  and  would  become 
confused  as  to  the  days  of  the  week.  Every  night  he 
heard  the  roaring  of  the  English  "captain" — if  such 
he  was — and  every  day  he  communicated  with  the 
prisoner  in  the  tower  opposite  to  him,  but  these  alone 
were  the  incidents  of  his  life,  for  beyond  the  visits  of 
Bluet  with  his  meals,  no  one  came  near  him.  And  he 
thought  ever  of  what  those  outside  would  imagine  had 
become  of  him.  With  that  opposite  prisoner,  for  whose 
appearance  at  his  window  he  looked  eagerly  every 
morning,  he  had  now  established  an  almost  perfect 
system  of  corresponding,  so  that,  although  their  inter- 
course was  naturally  very  slow,  it  was  at  least  some- 
thing with  which  to  beguile  many  weary  hours.  He 
had  been  unable  to  discover  any  board  which  would 
answer  to  the  one  on  which  his  strangely  made  friend 
wrote  and  rubbed  out  letter  after  letter  and  formed 
his  words,  but  as  he  had  found  several  large  pieces  of 
paper  in  a  corner  of  the  chapel,  he  had  managed  to 
shape  a  number  of  large  letters— indeed,  all  of  the 
alphabet— which,  by  holding  each  up  successively,  an- 


254 


DENOUNCED. 


swered  the  purpose  equally  well.  And  thus  they  cor- 
responded slowly  and  wearily,  but  still  intelligibly,  and 
in  that  way  the  monotony  of  their  lives  was  relieved. 
Yet  even  this  was  not  always  practicable,  and  some- 
times they  had  to  desist  from  communicating  with 
each  other  at  all  since,  on  certain  days  the  sentries 
were  set  on  the  tower  in  which  the  man  was,  and  would 
ha,ve  discovered  their  correspondence  had  they  not 
discontinued  it.  But  at  other  times  the  men's  duty 
took  them  to  other  parts  of  the  prison  roof — for  the 
corps  de  garde  was  not  strong,  the  walls,  locks,  and 
bars  being  alone  considered  sufficient  to  prevent  any 
attempt  at  escape — and  then  they  were  uninterrupted. 

"  I  am  alone  in  my  cell,"  the  other  had  communi- 
cated to  Bertie,  "  and  my  name  is  Falmy.  I  am  of 
Geneva.  Of  the  Reformed  faith.  I  know  of  no  other 
reason  why  I  am  here  so  long.  Fleury  sent  me  here 
the  year  before  he  was  Cardinal." 

Every  morning,  however,  he  prefaced  any  other 
message  to  Bertie  by  the  question,  "  Have  you  been 
examined  yet?"  and  as  each  day  the  other  shook  his 
head  he  seemed  by  his  expression  to  show  that  he 
regretted  such  was  the  case. 

"  If  you  are  not  examined  soon,  your  stay  may  be 
long.  But  take  heart,"  he  signalled,  "the  principal 
examiner  is  extremely  irregular,  yet  he  comes  at  last 
in  most  cases." 

"  He  has  not  done  so  in  yours,  poor  friend,"  re- 
turned Bertie,  "nor  in  the  case  of  him  who  has  been 
here  forty-two  years  !  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Le  Marquis  de  Chevagny,  of  near  Chartres.  It 
was  the  Grand  Monarque  who  sent  him  here.  He  is 
forgotten.  In  December  he  will  have  been  here  forty- 
three  years." 


AT   LAST.  255 

"  What  was  his  fault  ?  " 

"  He  wrote  a  pasquinade  on  Madame  La  Valliere. 
She  obtained  the  lettre  de  cachet  from  the  King." 

"And,"  signalled  back  Bertie,  "for  that  he  has 
suffered  forty-three  years  !  " 

"  He  will  suffer  till  he  dies.  Louis  and  La  Val- 
liere have  been  long  dead,  so  have  all  of  their  time. 
He  is  forgotten.  He  will  never  go  forth.  Nor  shall 
I.  Those  who  are  forgotten  are  lost." 

With  such  recitals  as  these  it  was  not  surprising 
that  Bertie's  heart  should  sink  ever  lower;  that  as 
days  followed  days  and  grew  at  last  into  weeks,  he  be- 
gan to  feel  sure  that  for  him  the  gates  of  his  prison 
would  never  open.  He,  too,  would  be  forgotten  by 
those  who  had  sent  him  there;  would  he,  he  asked 
himself,  be  forgotten  by  those  who  loved  him  ?  No 
one  knew  that  he  was  incarcerated  in  those  dreadful 
walls,  that  fortress  in  which  one  was  as  much  shut  off 
from  the  world  as  in  a  tomb.  No  one  would  ever 
know ! 

He  consulted  Falmy  one  day  as  to  whether  there 
was  no  possibility  of  communicating  with  that  outer 
world,  no  chance  of  letting  some  friend  who  could  in- 
terest himself  in  his  behalf  know  where  he  was,  but  in 
reply  the  other  only  shook  his  head  moodily.  Then, 
after  staring  out  of  his  window  for  some  moments, 
with  always  in  his  face  that  look  of  despair  which 
Bertie  had  observed  from  the  first  and  had  been  so 
fascinated  by,  Falmy  made  a  sign  to  him  to  attend, 
and  began  his  letters  again. 

"There  is,"  he  signalled,  "one  chance  alone, 
be   confined  with  some  prisoner  whose  release  may 
come  while  you  are  together.    Then  to  send  a  message 
to  your  friends.    By  word  of  mouth  alone.    No  written 


256 


DENOUNCED. 


line  can  go  forth.    All  are  searched  for  letters  ere  they 
are  let  go." 

Bertie  thought  a  moment,  then  he  asked : 
"  Can  I  get  changed  to  another  room  ?  " 
Again   Falmy  shook   his   head  gloomily  and  pon- 
dered.    But  another  thought  appeared  to  come  to  his 
mind,  and  he  signalled  : 

"You  will  be  changed  ere  long  if  you  are  not  re- 
leased or  examined.  None  remain  in  the  chapel  who 
are  to  stay  in  this  devil's  den.  I  have  made  many 
friends  at  your  window,  and  lost  them  all.  Soon  I 
shall  lose  you,"  and  as  he  finished  the  last  word  Bertie 
saw  Falmy's  face  working  piteously  and  knew  that  he 
wept.  And  he,  his  heart  torn  with  both  their  griefs, 
wept  too,  and  left  his  window  suddenly  to  throw  him- 
self on  his  bed. 

And  still  the  days  went  on,  and  the  weeks,  and  he 
knew,  by  the  notches  he  made  on  the  wall  as  each 
fresh  dawn  broke,  as  well  as  by  the  increased  cold, 
that  the  depth  of  winter  had  come.  On  the  roof  of 
the  Tour  de  la  Bertaudiere  he  could  see  the  snow 
lying  now,  or  heard  it  fall  into  the  garden  with  a  thud 
when  a  slight  thaw  happened,  while  the  cold  became 
so  intense  that  neither  he  nor  Falmy  could  stay  long 
at  the  window  to  communicate  with  each  other.  He 
had  given  various  little  orders  to  Bluet  for  payment 
out  of  his  stock  of  Louis  d'ors  during  this  time,  so  that 
the  man  still  looked  after  him  well,  and  he  had  a  few 
fagots  of  wood  allowed  him,  or  rather  found  him,  in 
consequence,  over  which  he  would  sit  and  shiver, 
though  the  large  bulging  bars  in  front  of  the  grate 
prevented  him  from  getting  near  enough  to  the  sticks 
to  derive  much  warmth  from  them.  And  often 
he  was  driven  to  seek  his  pallet  and  lie  huddled 


AT   LAST.  257 

up  in  the  foul  bedding  to  keep  himself  from  per- 
ishing. 

And  still  the  weeks  went  on  now,  and  he  was  there, 
though  he  had  begged  the  turnkey  to  ask  the  Govern- 
or to  remove  him  to  a  warmer  and  smaller  room,  and 
also  to  some  place  where  he  might  have  company. 
But  Bluet  had  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said 
that  such  a  request  was  useless,  adding  that  De  Launey 
was  a  brigand  who  would  do  nothing  until  it  pleased 
him. 

"  Yet,"  replied  Bertie,  "  he  said  he  would  do  his 
best  for  me  and  make  me  comfortable.  Comfortable ! 
comfortable  !  My  God !  " 

"Poof!  poof  ?"  exclaimed  Bluet.  "You  must  not 
believe  in  him.  He  is  full  of  words  to  those  who  come 
in — le  sal  Gascon  ! — because  he  knows  not  how  soon 
they  may  go  out  again,  nor  whether  they  may  not 
have  come  in  by  mistake — as  mon  Dieu !  many  have 
— nor  what  trouble  those  who  go  out  may  plunge  him 
into.  But  once  he  finds  they  are  not  going— that  is  to 
say,  not  going  just  at  once — why,  then  he  possesses 
the  Bastille  memory  which,  ma  foil  means  an  agree- 
able forgetfulness.  Tenez  !  have  no  hopes  from  that 
shivering  escargot !  " 

"  I  am  doomed,  then,  to  die  in  this  vault— to  be 
killed  by  the  cold  and  the  draughts ! " 

"  Non,  non,  be  calm.  You  will  go  forth.  None 
but  princes  and  marshals  stay  long  here.  And  there 
has  been  a  clearing  from  above;  many  have  departed; 
there  is  room  for  you  now.  Soon  I  shall  remove 
monsieur." 

"Who  are  gone?  Any  who  have  been  here 
long  ? " 

"  No.      Many    new  ones,  and   one  who  was   here 


258 


DENOUNCED. 


eight  years — by  a  mistake.  He  was  a  Hollander,  a 
doctor,  and — mart  de  ma  vie  ! — they  thought  he  was 
Schwab,  the  Alsatian  poisoner.  He  now  is  gone,  and 
the  pig,  De  Launey,  entertained  him  to  breakfast  ere 
he  went,  though  he  would  allow  him  only  la  petite 
bouteille  while  he  remained.  And  the  captain  of  the 
road,  the  sweet  singer  of  songs,  he  is  gone  too,  only 
'tis  to  the  Place  de  Greve,  for  a  certain  purpose,"  and 
he  motioned  to  his  throat  as  he  spoke  and  winked  at 
the  other,  who  shuddered.  Vile  and  dissolute  as  the 
man's  roarings  and  carousals  had  been,  they  had 
served  to  cheer  him  up  in  his  loneliness  and  desolation, 
and  he  regretted  his  fate. 

Another  week  passed,  and  Bertie,  who  had  now 
contracted  a  terrible  cold  and  cough  that  plagued  him 
at  nights,  began  to  believe  that  he  would  never  leave 
the  chapel  alive,  when  Bluet,  coming  with  his  break- 
fast one  morning,  told  him  that  he  was  to  be  moved. 

"  Thank  God !  "  exclaimed  the  poor  prisoner, 
"  thank  God  !  it  cannot  be  worse  than  this." 

"  No,"  said  the  turnkey,  "  because  where  you  are 
going  to  you  will  find  la  society.  Though,  par  hasard, 
I  know  not  if  it  will  enchant  you  much.  There  is  the 
oldest  pensioner  of  Madame  La  Bastille,  the  Marquis 
de  Chevagny — a  sad  man,  taking  little  enjoyment  of 
his  life — though  he  should  be  used  to  it  by  now  !  and 
another,  a  fool,  a  madman,  they  say  a  murderer.  But 
I  know  not.  However,  he  is  a  compatriot  of  Monsieur 
le  Capitaine,  an  Englishman." 

"  What  is  his  name  ? "  asked  Bertie. 

"  Monsieur,  to  many  there  are  no  names  in  the 
Bastille.  Only  numbers,  with  few  exceptions,  such 
as  that  of  De  Chevagny,  of  whom  we  are  justly 
proud.  He  is  a  credit  to  us  and  to  our  care.  Still,  I 


AT  LAST. 

doubt  not  you  will  soon  find  out  the  idiot's  name. 
He  has  his  sane  moments,  though  they  are  few.  But 
his  principal  remark  is  that  he  trusts  the  wheel  is  not 
too  painful.  Tis  to  that  he  is  bound  to  go." 

"  An  idiot !  And  sent  to  the  wheel,  even  though  a 
murderer  !  Will  they  do  that  ?  " 

"  Faith,  they  will.  For,  tenez,  monsieur  "—and  he 
laid  a  dirty  finger  along  his  nose  and  looked  slyly  at 
Bertie — "  he  is  a  prisoner  of  the  Church,  of  the  priests. 
He  has  outraged  them.  Do  you  think  he  will  escape 
their  claws  if  he  were  forty  thousand  times  as  mad  ?" 

"When  shall  I  join  this  company  ?"  asked  Bertie. 
"  I  shall  be  glad  to  go.  At  least,  the  Marquis  de 
Chevagny  should  be  an  interesting  companion." 

"  At  once.  I  will  go  fetch  Pierre  to  assist  in  car- 
rying up  your  baggage  and  furniture,  and  then  the 
King's  Lieutenant  will  escort  you  to  the  calotte.  And, 
cheer  up,  'tis  high,  but  pleasant ;  you  can  see  tout  Paris, 
and  the  top  windows  of  the  Rue  St.  Antoine.  Ma  foi ! 
a  gay  view,  a  fine  retreat." 

While  the  man  was  gone,  Bertie  placed  the  table 
and  chair  against  the  wall  and  sprang  on  top  of  them, 
and  since  it  was  Falmy's  usual  time  for  being  at  the 
window,  was  happy  in  finding  him  there.  "Adieu,"  he 
signalled  as  rapidly  as  he  possibly  could,  "I  go  to  one 
of  the  calottes.  I  pray  we  may  be  able  to  correspond 
as  before."  Then  in  an  instant  he  knew  by  the  light 
in  Falmy's  face  that  such  was  the  case,  for  he  nodded 
and  himself  began  to  signal  back:  "If  not  the  one 

above  me,  we  can.     I "  but  at  this  moment  Bertie 

heard  Bluet  coming  back  to  the  door,  and,  hurriedly 
jumping  down,  replaced  the  chair  and  table  in  their 
accustomed  position.  He  had  never  been  able  to 
judge  whether  the  turnkey  would  have  remonstrated 


26o  DENOUNCED. 

at  this  correspondence  with  another  prisoner,  and  per- 
haps have  caused  it  to  be  stopped.  He  did  not,  indeed, 
think  he  would  do  so,  but  he  had  always  taken  pre- 
cautions to  prevent  him  knowing  what  they  did,  and 
he  took  them  now  on  this  the  last  occasion. 

Bluet  was  attended  by  the  other  turnkey,  Pierre, 
and  accompanied  by  the  King's  Lieutenant,  who  was 
second  in  command  in  the  prison  ;  and  while  the  two 
former  busied  themselves  in  getting  together  his  bed 
and  linen,  as  well  as  his  furniture,  the  latter  addressed 
him  with  that  French  etiquette  and  politeness  which 
so  often  does  duty  for  kind-heartedness. 

"  Monsieur  has,  I  trust,  found  himself  as  com- 
fortable as  circumstances  will  permit,"  he  said,  "and 
has  wanted  for  nothing.  The  food  served  in  this 
chapel  is  always  of  the  first  order." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of,"  replied  Elphin- 
ston  ;  "  since  I  am  here,  I  must  take  what  comes.  Yet, 
I  wish  you  would  answer  me  a  question  or  so,  mon- 
sieur. You  are,  or  have  been,  a  soldier,  like  myself. 
May  not  that  ancient  comradeship  of  arms  make  you 
gracious  enough  to  do  so  ?" 

"  It  is  not  the  graciousness  I  lack,"  replied  the 
officer,  "it  is  the  power.  For,  Monsieur  Elphinston, 
you  must  surely  know  we  are  vowed  to  silence  and 
secrecy  within  these  walls.  It  is  more  than  our  posts, 
nay,  our  heads,  are  worth  to  answer  questions  or 
divulge  secrets."- 

"  If  I  could  know,"  said  Bertie,  "  when  I  shall  be 
interrogated  it  would  be  much." 

"  No  mortal  man  in  the  Bastille  can  tell  you  that," 
the  King's  Lieutenant  interrupted,  "  not  even  De 
Launey  himself.  The  examiner,  or  judge,  comes  at 
fitful  times  and  without  warning.  He  came  a  week 


AT   LAST.  26  r 

ago  ;  he  may  come  again  next  week  ;  he  may  not  come 
again  for  a  year,  or  for  two  years." 

"Is  it  because  he  did  not  concern  himself  with  my 
case  a  week  ago  that  I  am  now  moved  ?"  Bertie  asked 
wistfully ;  "  is  it  because  I  am  passed  over  and  may 
have  to  wait  a  long  time  now  that  this  change  takes 
place  ?  " 

The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  his 
face  away.  He  was  a  soldier  and  had  a  heart  within 
him,  in  spite  of  being  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Bastille, 
and  he  could  not  reply  that  Bertie  had  guessed  accu- 
rately, that  it  was  because  he  had  been  passed  over, 
and  might,  in  consequence,  be  passed  over  for  years, 
that  he  was  now  removed  from  the  chapel. 

"  I  see.  I  understand,"  Bertie  said.  "  I  under- 
stand very  well.  I  may  linger  on  here  till  I  am  old; 
I  may  become,  if  I  live  long  enough,  the  oldest  pris- 
oner !  "  Then,  once  more  addressing  the  Lieutenant, 
he  said,  though  without  any  hope  of  receiving  an  an- 
swer : 

"  If  I  could  only  know  to  whom  or  what  I  owe 
this  incarceration  it  might  ease  my  mind ;  might,  per- 
haps, enable  me  to  confute  the  charge  that  in  years  to 
come  may  be  brought  against  me.  Can  you  not  help 
me ! — me,  a  brother  soldier  ? " 

Bluet  and  Pierre  had  left  the  chapel  with  the  furni- 
ture and  bedding,  so  that  they  were  alone  now,  and 
the  Lieutenant,  glancing  round  the  place,  said  softly : 

"Have  you  no  suspicion?  Can  you  not  guess? 
Does  not  your  memory  point  to  one  whom  you  have 

injured?" 

"My  memory,"  replied  Bertie,  "points  to  one  whc 
has  injured  me  and  those  I  love  so  deeply  that,  if 
had  the  power,  he  would  have  caused  me  to  be  sent 


262  DENOUNCED. 

here.  But  even  his  devilish  malignity  could  not  pro- 
cure him  that.  He  cannot  have  the  power." 

He  had  thought  of  Fordingbridge  over  and  over 
again  as  the  man  whose  hand  might  have  inflicted  this 
last  deadly  blow,  yet  he  could  never  convince  himself 
that  it  could  indeed  be  he.  He  would  be  almost  as 
much  an  outcast  now,  if  in  the  city,  as  he  would  have 
been  in  London  with  a  price  upon  his  head.  How,  he 
had  asked  himself,  could  it  be  Fordingbridge?" 

And  the  Lieutenant's  next  words,  uttered  in  almost 
a  whisper,  in  spite  of  their  being  still  alone,  seemed  to 
confirm  his  doubts. 

"Think  again,"  he  said;  "reflect  on  some  other 
than  this  one  you  mention  ;  on  one  whom  you  in- 
jured, whose  ambition  you  thwarted  inSts  dearest  de- 
sign ;  on  one  who  is  powerful,  has  the  ear  of  the 
King,  who  could  send  you  here,  and  did  so.  Reflect!" 

Bertie  drew  back  in  amazement  and  stared  at  the 
Lieutenant,  unable  to  believe  his  own  ears.  Then  he 
repeated : 

"Whose  ambition  I  thwarted!  One  who  is  power- 
ful— the  friend  of  the  King!  Oh,  'tis  impossible,  im- 
possible !  Some  awful  mistake  has  been  made.  I 
know  no  one  such  as  that.  No  one." 

Then,  clasping  his  hands  together,  while  his  voice 
rang  out  clear  and  distinct  in  that  vaulted  chapel,  he 
exclaimed,  "  For  God's  sake,  help  me  in  this !  For 
God's  sake,  tell  me  to  whom  you  refer  !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  other.  "  Hush  !  They  are  com- 
ing back.  And  as  for  the  name,  it  must  never  pass 
my  lips.  If  the  recollection  of  your  own  actions  can- 
not help  you  now,  I  can  do  no  more ; "  and,  seeing  the 
turnkeys  at  the  door,  he  said  in  his  usual  tones,  "  Mon- 
sieur, follow  me  to  your  new  apartment." 


AT   LAST.  2g- 

Dazed  with  what  he  had  heard,  Elphinston  obeyed 
him,  and  slowly  they  went  through  the  gloomy  pas- 
sages and  up  more  stairs  through  iron-plated  doors, 
until  they  stood  at  the  one  which  opened  into  the 
calotte  of  the  tower  above  the  chapel— so  called  be- 
cause, being  the  topmost  chamber  in  the  roof,  it  re- 
sembled a  calotte,  or  fool's  cap,  or  extinguisher. 

"  Messieurs,'  said  the  Lieutenant  to  the  inmates  of 
the  room  when  the  door  had  been  unlocked  and  un- 
barred, "  allow  me  to  present  to  you  a  comrade.  Let 
me  trust  you  will  be  agreeable  to  each  other.  Mon- 
sieur de  Chevagny,  you  are  the  father  of  the  house ;  I 
commit  him  to  you."  Then,  glancing  over  to  a  bed  in 
the  corner,  on  which  a  dark-haired  man  lay  sleeping 
with  his  face  turned  to  the  wall,  the  Lieutenant 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said,  "MonDieu!  le  fou 
sleeps  heavily.  Well,  we  need  not  disturb  him.  No 
presentations  are  necessary  with  him." 

The  man  addressed  as  Chevagny — whom  Bertie 
could  not  but  regard  with  interest,  despite  the  whirl 
in  which  his  brain  was  at  the  strange,  inexplicable 
revelations  of  the  Lieutenant — rose  with  courtesy  from 
a  chair  as  his  name  was  mentioned,  and,  coming  towards 
Bertie,  held  out  a  thin  hand.  His  hair  was  snow-white 
and  of  great  length,  while  his  face,  partly  from  age  and 
partly,  perhaps,  from  long  confinement,  was  shrivelled 
and  wan.  What  his  clothes  might  have  originally 
been  it  was  impossible  to  guess;  now  they  were  a 
mass  of  rags  and  tatters,  patched  in  some  places,  in 
others  hanging  in  shreds.  Round  his  neck  he  wore 
for  a  cravat  the  sleeve  of  an  old  shirt ;  while  the  soles 
of  his  shoes,  which  were  full  of  holes,  were  joined  to 
the  upper  parts  by  pieces  of  pack  thread.  All  over  his 
face  there  grew  a  great  beard  as  white  as  the  hair  on 


264 


DENOUNCED. 


his  head,  and  this  may  have  helped  to  keep  him  warm, 
especially  as  over  his  breast  it  was  tucked  inside  a 
shirt  that  was  almost  black  from  long  wear.  Yet, 
with  all  this  ragged  misery,  those  features  of  his  face 
which  his  hair  and  beard  allowed  to  be  seen  were  re- 
fined and  elegant,  were  the  features  of  a  well-born 
man. 

"  Sir,"  he  said  to  Bertie  as  he  held  out  his  hand, 
"  what  there  is  here  I  welcome  you  to,  and  I  can  only 
pray  that  it  may  not  be  your  lot  to  grow  as  familiar 
with  this  place  as  I  have  become.  For  now — now — 
and  Bertie  could  see  his  old  lips  tremble  as  he  spoke, 
"  this  place  has  grown  through  my  unhappiness  to 
be  the  only  spot  on  earth  that  I  know  of — my  only 
home." 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  Bertie,  "  for  your 
greeting,  sad  as  it  is  and  sad  as  is  the  spot  where  we 
meet,  I  thank  you.  So  long  as  I  am  here — so  long! — 
I  shall  respect  and  pity  you." 

He  had  taken  no  heed  of  the  figure  on  the  bed 
while  he  was  speaking,  having,  indeed,  his  back  turned 
to  it,  but  now  it  forced  him  to  observe  it. 

For,  as  he  spoke  for  the  first  time,  that  figure — its 
wild  eyes  staring  as  though  about  to  start  from  its 
head,  and  its  hands  opening  and  shutting  convulsively 
— was  kneeling  on  the  bed,  muttering,  whining,  gasp- 
ing behind  him. 

And,  turning  round  suddenly  and  seeing  its  con- 
tortions and  its  awful  maniacal  fear,  Bertie  reeled 
back  across  the  calotte,  exclaiming: 

"  My  God !  Fordingbridge  !    Face  to  face  at  last !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

BROKEN  HEARTS. 

YET  in  that  very  moment  he  knew  that  once  more 
Fordingbridge  had  escaped  his  vengeance.  He  recog- 
nised in  the  creature  which  had  flung  itself  at  his  feet 
and  was  moving,  grimacing,  and  chattering  there,  that 
he  was  mad — that  he  could  no  longer  right  his  wrongs 
by  choking  the  life  out  of  it.  Those  wild,  misty  eyes, 
extended  to  their  utmost  with  fear  and  maniacal  frenzy, 
told  only  too  plainly  that  the  brain  behind  them  was 
gone  for  ever,  that  henceforward  he  had  to  do  with  a 
thing  that  lived,  it  was  true,  but  had  no  sense  nor  rea- 
son. Yet  the  maniac  recognised  him,  he  observed, 
was  striving  in  his  way  to  sue  for  mercy — could  he  be 
so  mad  as  to  be  safe  from  his  revenge  ? 

"You  know  him?"  asked  the  marquis,  in  his  sad, 
weak  voice,  he  having  witnessed  the  scene  with  aston-' 
ishment.  "  You  know  him  ?" 

"  To  my  bitter  cost.  Until  to-day  I  thought— so 
much  has  he  wronged  me— that  to  him  also  I  owed  my 
detention  here.  Yet  that,  it  seems  now,  can  hardly^be. 
Monsieur,  how  long  has  he  been  your  companion?" 

De  Chevagny  paused  a  moment  as  though  en- 
deavouring to  count  the  time  since  first  his  companion 
had  been  there— his  blue  eyes  gazing  out  wistfully  to 
the  Rue  St.  Antoine,  the  roofs  of  which  could  plainly 
be  seen  from  this  room— then  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 


266  DENOUNCED. 

ders  and  said,  "  I  cannot  tell.  I  do  not  know.  I  have 
lost  the  power  of  keeping  count.  Yet — yet — it  must 
be  many  weeks.  We  had  no  fire  when  first  he  came, 
and — and — the  swallows  were —  No,"  he  broke  off, 
"  I  cannot  remember." 

That  told  Bertie  much;  told  him  that  it  could 
scarcely  have  been  Fordingbridge  who  had  been  the 
cause,  even  though  indirect,  of  his  being  seized  and 
sent  here.  They  must  have  come  in  almost  at  the 
same  time.  Who,  then,  was  the  strange,  mysterious 
man  of  power — the  friend  of  the  King,  of  whom  the 
Lieutenant  had  spoken,  the  man  whose  deadly  venge- 
ance he  had  incurred  ? 

"  Begone  !  "  he  said  to  his  old  enemy,  still  grovel- 
ling at  his  feet ;  "  away  from  me,  I  say.  Heavens  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  "must  this  companionship  be  added  to 
my  other  sufferings  ?  Is  the  Bastille  so  small,  or  are 
its  chambers  so  crowded,  that  this  wretch  and  I  could 
not  be  kept  apart  ?  Oh,  what  an  irony  of  Fate  that  I 
who  have  sought  him  so  long  must  meet  him  thus!  " 

"  Monsieur,"  said  De  Chevagny,  while  still  Ford- 
ingbridge knelt  at  Bertie's  feet,  wringing  his  hands 
and  muttering,  "monsieur,  if  his  wrongs  to  you,  his 
evil  doings,  are  not  beyond  all  forgiveness,  you  may 
pardon  him  now,  almost  pity  him.  He  is  doomed  to 
death,  I  hear;  nothing,  not  even  his  madness,  can  save 
him." 

"Pity  him!"  exclaimed  Bertie,  "pity  him!  He 
has  ruined,  broken  my  life  for  ever;  how  can  I  pity 
him  ?  And,  even  though  he  be  not  the  cause  of  my 
presence  here,  I  curse  the  hour  that  he  was  born,  the 
day  that  threw  him  across  my  path  !  " 

"  They  say,"  repeated  the  wretched  maniac,  his 
eyes  glinting  about  the  room  in  his  frenzy,  "they  say 


BROKEN   HEARTS.  267 

nothing  can  save  me.  The  priests  will  have  my  blood, 
will  have  me  broken  upon  the  wheel,  will  even  refuse 
me  absolution  at  the  last.  Yet  I  confessed  to  one  of 
them — I  confessed — I  should  be  spared." 

"  What  fresh  crime  have  you  committed  that  brings 
you  here?"  asked  Elphinston  sternly  of  him.  "What 
deed  of  treachery — or  worse  ?" 

"I  slew  him,"  said  Fordingbridge,  still  shaking  all 
over,  "because  I  hated  him,  because  he  wrought  my 
downfall.  I  came  behind  him  on — on — the  place,  I 
had  the  knife  up  my  sleeve  thus,"  and  he  bent  his 
hand  as  though  to  illustrate  the  holding  of  a  concealed 
dagger's  hilt  in  it,  "and  when  he  turned  from  me  I 
drove  it  home.  He  was  dead  a  moment  afterwards. 
Dead  !  Dead  at  my  feet !  "  and  he  leered  hideously  as 
he  spoke. 

"Who  was  it  you  assassinated  thus,  in  a  manner  so 
well  becoming  all  your  actions  ?  Some  poor,  feeble 
creature  unable  to  protect  himself;  some  old  man  or 
stripling,  perhaps,  and  unarmed?" 

Was  it  well  that  Bertie  did  not  suspect  ?  If  he  had 
known,  if  he  could  but  have  known  or  guessed  that,  so 
far  from  being  such  as  he  imagined,  the  victim  had 
been  his  own  stalwart  friend  and  comrade  who  had 
fallen  beneath  the  foul  assassin's  knife,  could  he  have 
restrained  himself  enough  not  to  have  dashed  his^ 
brains  out  against  the  prison  walls  ? 

"  Ha !  ha !  "  laughed  Fordingbridge,  while  at  the 
same  time  there  came  into  his  eyes  the  awful  look  of 
cunning  so  peculiar  to  maniacs — "ha!  ha!  I  know. 
But  the  secret's  mine — mine — and  the  priests'.  Yet, 
though  I  confided  in  them — confessed  to  them — they 
still  denounced  me,  will  now  slay  me.  They  say,"  he 
went  on,  putting  out  a  long,  shaking  finger  and  en- 
18 


268  DENOUNCED. 

deavouring  to  touch  the  arm  of  the  poor  old  marquis, 
who  shrank  back  from  him  as  from  some  foul  creature, 
"  they  say  that  not  even  my  English  peerage  can  save 
me,  since  the  priests  are  determined  to  have  vengeance. 
Do  you  think  that  is  so  ?  Will  they  kill  an  English 
peer  ?" 

"  There  is,"  said  De  Chavagny  coldly — for  now  he 
knew  that  the  creature  he  had  pitied  when  first  he 
came  to  this  room  was  a  cold-blooded  assassin  who 
had  probably  gone  mad  from  terror  afterwards — 
"  there  is  no  reason  why  they  should  not.  The  priests 
have  slain  many  French  peers  who  were  not  murder- 
ers— Son  Eminence  Grise  more  than  a  hundred,  they 
say.  Why  should  they  not  slay  an  English  peer  who 
is  such  as  you  are  ?" 

"  But  not  by  the  wheel,"  Fordingbridge  moaned, 
"  not  by  the  wheel.  Oh,  to  think  of  it ! "  and  again 
he  mowed  and  mouthed  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  seen 
men  killed  thus — there  was  one  at — at — I  forget  the 
place — my  memory  is  gone — but  I  saw  him.  They 
broke  his  bones  with  iron  bars,  and  finished  by  beating 

in  his  chest-bone,  and "  breaking  off  inconse- 

quently,  "  I  want  my  dinner;  I  am  hungry." 

In  disgust  the  others  turned  away  from  him,  while 
he  threw  himself  on  his  bed  in  the  corner  and  moaned 
again  that  he  was  hungry. 

"  I  have  had  many  strange  companions  in  this  cell 
in  my  time,"  said  Chevagny,  in  his' quiet,  sad  tones, 
"  but  never  one  like  this.  It  is  an  insult  to  put  such 
as  he  is  in  with  us." 

"  Will  they  execute  him  as  he  fears  ? "  asked  Bertie. 
"  I  had  always  thought  that  the  Bastille  detained  its 
prisoners  or  sent  them  forth  free.  I  knew  not  that 
condemned  men  went  from  it  to  meet  their  death." 


BROKEN   HEARTS.  2fa 

"Many  have  so  gone  forth,"  the  other  replied, 
"though  generally  only  traitors.  Yet  this  man  stands 
in  evil  case,  too  ;  he  has  murdered,  I  judge  from  what 
he  has  now  said,  a  priest— a  Jesuit ;  if  so,  he  must  die, 
for  the  Jesuits  are  powerful  in  the  Bastille — Gerville, 
the  chaplain,  is  himself  one.  And,  if  he  is  a  murderer, 
he  should  die." 

"  In  truth  he  should,"  replied  Bertie,  "  nor  would  I 
lift  a  finger  to  save  him.  For  he  is  a  murderer  in 
more  senses  than  one :  he  has  slain  two  lives  already — 
my  own  and  another.  I  had  sworn  to  myself  to  kill 
him  if  we  ever  met ;  we  have  done  so,  and  lo !  I  can- 
not slay  him.  No  matter,  let  the  Place  de  Greve  do 
its  work  !  " 

That  he  should  feel  no  pity  for  the  wretch  lying 
there  on  his  bed  was  not  strange ;  he  had  wrought  far 
too  much  bitter  woe  to  Elphinston  for  such  a  senti- 
ment to  rise  into  his  heart.  Indeed,  instead  of  pity, 
there  had  come  into  his  mind  now  a  great  desire  to 
discover,  if  possible,  who  the  victim  could  be  whom 
Fordingbridge  had  slain.  He  had  not  actually  said  it 
was  a  priest,  though  the  Marquis  de  Chevagny  had 
suggested  that  it  was  one,  and  as  Bertie  pondered  on 
all  this  a  terrible  idea  flashed  into  his  mind — was  the 
victim  Archibald  Sholto  ?  He  knew  that  Fording- 
bridge hated  him,  he  knew  that  Archibald  possessed 
many  secrets  of  his;  could  it  be  that  he  had  come 
upon  him  unawares  and  slain  him  ?  If  so,  if  such  was 
the  case,  then  it  was  not  strange  that  the  Jesuits  had 
determined  upon  his  execution.  And  as  he  reflected 
on  all  this  he  determined  that,  if  Fordingbridge  were 
not  taken  away  to  his  doom  at  once,  he  would  find 
out  who  it  was  that  had  fallen  victim  to  his  treachery. 

Bluet  came  in  as  he  made  these  resolutions,  and 


2/0 


DENOUNCED. 


began  busying  himself  with  preparing  their  midday 
meal,  laying  three  covers  at  the  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  As,  usual  the  fellow  was  in  his  accus- 
tomed semi-drunken  condition,  which  Bertie  had  long 
since  discovered  was  owing  to  his  habit  of  abstracting 
some  or  all  of  the  prisoners'  wine  ere  he  brought  it  to 
them — a  pleasing  custom  none  complained  of,  since  he 
was,  otherwise,  an  obliging  rascal ;  and,  as  usual,  he 
began  to  chatter  in  his  familiar  manner  to  those  in 
the  calotte. 

"  Ma  foi !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  if  things  go  on  as  they 
now  are,  we  shall  soon  have  no  guests  at  all.  The  ex- 
aminers come  again  to-night ;  we  are  informed  they 
will  dine  with  le  vieux  singe  De  Launey  ;  there  will  be 
some  clearances  to-morrow  morning." 

It  was  natural  that  at  these  words  hope  should 
spring  into  the  breast  of  Elphinston ;  that  he  should 
be  excited  with  the  thought  that  now  his  case  might 
be  considered.  Also,  perhaps,  it  was  natural  that  to 
De  Chevagny  they  caused  not  the  slightest  emotion. 

"  Is — is  there  any  possibility,  any  chance  of  know- 
ing who  will  be  called  before  them  ? "  asked  the  former. 
"  Can  you,  Bluet,  give  any  guess  ?  " 

" MonDieu!  non"  replied  the  other,  "not  the  least. 
When  D'Argenson,  who  is  the  presiding  Examiner,  has 
supped — and,  Heavens !  he  will  punish  old  De  Launey 's 
vin  de  Brequiny,  which  is  a  wine  to  make  the  goats 
dance — then  he  will  call  for  the  list  of  our  visitors, 
and  will  go  over  it  from  the  first  here  to  the  last ; 
and  from  that  list  he  will  select  the  names  of  some, 
but  who  they  will  be  D'Argenson  and  his  friend,  the 
devil,  alone  can  tell." 

"There  will  be  one,"  said  the  marquis  softly, 
"  whose  name  at  least  he  will  not  select — one  who 


BROKEN   HEARTS.  271 

is  forgotten  by  all  outside  these  walls.  Yet,  how 
well  he  was  known  and  loved  once  by  many — by 
many  !  " 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  the  good-natured 
vagabond,  trying  to  cheer  him,  "  what  should  we 
within  the  walls  do  if  he  did  not  forget  you  ?  Mon 
Dieu  !  I  would  disband  myself,  would  go  forth  also  if 
you,  the  father  of  our  company,  our  Bastille  flower, 
left  us.  Non,  nan,  marquis,  we  cannot  part  with  you. 
You  are  our  father,  our  pride." 

"  I  was  here,"  said  the  poor  old  prisoner,  shaking 
his  head — and  as  he  did  so  he  shook  a  drop  from  each 
of  his  eyes  on  to  his  long  beard — "  when  Bernaville  was 
Governor.  He  put  me  first  in  the  Tour  de  la  Comte, 
where  Lauzun  had  been,  and  where,  when  he  tried  to 
escape,  they  hanged  his  servant  outside  his  door  as  a 
warning ;  him  they  dared  not  hang ;  and  then  I  thought 
always  that  the  Examiner — it  was  D'Argenson's  father 
in  those  far-off  days— might  send  for  me.  But  he 
never  did,  he  never  did.  And  none  have  sent  for  me 
yet,  and  never  will.  You  will  go,"  he  said,  looking  at 
Elphinston,  "  as  the  others  have  gone,  and  he,"  look- 
ing  at  the  maniac  on  the  bed,  "  will  go  to  his  doom, 
but  I  shall  remain  until  I  go,  too— unto  my  grave. 
Ah,  my  grave,  my  grave!  And  then— I  may  see 
again  the  young  wife  they  took  me  from— 'tis  almost 
forty-three  years  ago— and  the  little  babe  I  left 
slumbering  on  her  breast;  the  little  child  that  we 
were  going  to  make  so  brave  a  feast  over  and  christen 
Brigide  because  it  was  my  mother's  name,  because  it 
had  blue  eyes  like  hers." 

Bertie  had  turned  his  face  away  from  the  old  man 
to  hide  his  tears,  and  now  he  took  him  by  the  hand 
and  wrung  it  softly,  while  Bluet,  who,  for  a  turnkey 


272 


DENOUNCED. 


of  the  Bastille,  seemed  also  much  affected,  exclaimed 
boisterously : 

"  Courage,  courage,  monsieur !  We  may  lose  you 
yet  to  our  desolation.  And  Madame  la  Marquise  may 
welcome  you  still — without  doubt  she  lives  for  you — 
and  la  petite  mademoiselle,  now  surely  a  great  lady,  as  a 
De  Chevagny  must  be.  Heart  of  grace,  monsieur, 
heart  of  grace,  and  see  the  fine  dinner  I  have  brought 
you  !  Regardez  mot  fa.  Here  is  a  fish — ombre  chevalier, 
of  the  best — and  two  pigeons,  some  beef  with  the 
gravy  in  it,  and  a  salad,  some  rennets  and  biscuits, 
and,  for  the  wine,  two  little  bottles.  Because,  you 
see,  monsieur,"  turning  to  Bertie  with  a  husky  whis- 
per, "  here  in  the  calottes  the  visitors  drink  not  with 
such-abundance  as  in  the  chapel  rooms.  'Tis  not  my 
fault." 

"Why,"  exclaimed  the  marquis,  in  a  stern  voice 
very  different  from  that  in  which  he  had  just  spoken, 
and  regarding  the  table  fiercely,  "  have  you  placed 
three  covers  ?  Who  are  the  three  ? " 

"MonDieu!  you  are  three,  monsieur.  Le  fou — the 
English  lord — must  eat  too,  is  it  not  so  ?  The  portion 
is  for  three,  and  a  good  one  at  that." 

"  He  is  a  villain!  "  exclaimed  the  old  marquis,  his 
eyes  flashing.  "  He  shall  not  sit  at  the  table.  I 
thought  his  drivellings  of  murder  were  not  true,  until 
this  gentleman  came,  and  that  he  was  a  harmless  idiot. 
Now,  I  know  he  is  a  villain.  And — and — I  am  a  gen- 
tleman— a  peer  of  France — he  shall  not  sit  at  meat 
with  me." 

"  Faith  !  then  he  must  eat  on  his  bed.  Here,  fool," 
Bluet  exclaimed,  going  up  to  Fordingbridge,  who 
seemed  more  dazed  than  ever,  though  he  had  been  re- 
garding the  food  eagerly;  "  the  marquis  will  not  have 


BROKEN   HEARTS.  373 

you.  at  the  table;  eat  there !"  and  he  flung  a  platter 
down  before  him,  on  which  there  was  some  of  the  beef 
and  salad,  and  an  apple,  or  rennet,  all  mixed  together. 

The  miserable  wretch  sprang  at  the  portion  like  a 
wild  beast  that  was  famished,  and  devoured  it  in  a 
few  moments,  and  then  threw  himself  on  the  bed  again 
and  either  slept  or  pretended  to  do  so,  while  the  mar- 
quis and  Bertie,  taking  no  notice  of  him,  discussed 
their  meal,  which,  in  spite  of  Bluet's  eulogies,  was  not 
a  very  solid  one.  And  during  its  progress  they  took 
the  opportunity  of  telling  each  other  a  good  deal  of 
their  various  affairs  and  history,  though,  since  the 
poor  marquis  had  been  immured  so  many  years,  his 
did  not  take  long  in  the  recital.  Yet  it  was  pitiful 
to  hear. 

"  I  had  been  married  but  a  year,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
young — but  twenty-five — well  to  do  ;  nay,  rich  and 
happy.  Then  I  wrote  a  little  ballade,  a  harmless  one, 
upon  La  Valliere ;  it  was  sung  about  the  streets,  it 
reached  Marly  and  Versailles,  and — and — that  was  all ! 
A  week  later  I  was  here — and  it  is  forty-three  years 
ago.  O  Jeanne,  my  wife !  O  Brigide,  my  little  child, 
my  babe !  where  are  you  both  now  ?  Forty-three 
years!  Forty- three  years!  Forty-three  years!  If 
they  should  see  me  they  would  not  know  me.  Jeanne 
could  not  recognize  in  me  the  young  husband  who  was 
torn  from  her  side ;  my  little  girl  never  knew  me,  will 
never  know  me  now." 

That  Bertie's  expressions  of  pity  and  sympathy 
with  the  poor  old  prisoner  eased  his  grief  he  could  not 
flatter  himself,  nothing  could  bring  comfort,  he  knew, 
to  that  broken  heart  and  wasted  life.  Moreover,  he 
was  himself  too  appalled,  too  overshadowed,  by  the 
dread  of  what  might  be  his  own  fate  to  give  much 


274 


DENOUNCED. 


consolation  to  the  other.  He  was  young,  almost  as 
young  as  the  marquis  had  been  when  he  was  brought 
here ;  he  might  be  here,  in  this  very  calotte,  forty-three 
years  hence.  Could  there  be  any  horror  greater  than 
this  to  look  forward  to  ?  Anything  more  dreadful  than 
such  as  this,  to  freeze  the  very  life  out  of  him ! 

Yet,  he  hoped  that  it  was  not  possible;  he  even 
hoped  that  to-night,  when  the  judges  came,  might  see 
his  liberty  announced.  For  he  knew  now  that  he  must 
be  the  victim  of  some  awful  error ;  there  was  no  man 
in  France  whom  he  had  injured,  no  man  whom  he 
knew  who  held  the  rank  and  power  which  the  King's 
Lieutenant  said  his  enemy  held.  How,  then,  could  he 
have  come  here  except  by  a  mistake  ? 

Bluet  brought  their  supper  at  eight  o'clock  and  an- 
nounced to  them  that  D'Argenson  had  arrived  with  two 
other  examiners,  or  judges,  as  they  were  termed  indif- 
ferently ;  that  they  were  supping  with  De  Launey, 
and  that,  when  this  was  finished,  they  would  proceed 
to  the  great  hall,  where  those  who  were  to  be  ex- 
amined would  be  summoned  one  by  one  before  them. 

"  And  when — when,"  asked  Bertie,  "  shall  I  know 
if — if — I  am  passed  over  ? "  while  it  seemed  to  him  as 
he  spoke  as  though  his  tongue  cleaved  to  the  roof  of 
his  mouth  so  that  he  was  scarcely  intelligible. 

Bluet  shrugged  his  shoulders  ere  he  answered,  then 
he  said  : 

"  'Tis  scarce  possible  to  say.  Men  Dieu  !  in  this 
place  day  and  night  scarce  know  distinction.  They 
may  sit  till  daybreak — I  have  known  them  tlo  it  when 
making  a  great  clearance,  and  we  have  had  to  rouse 
our  guests  from  their  beds  to  go  before  them.  Yet, 
'tis  not  always  so ;  ordinarily,  by  midnight,  the  affair 
is  finished." 


BROKEN  HEARTS.  2~, 

"  So  that,"  said  Bertie,  "  I  can  know  nothing  for 
certain  until  the  morrow." 

Again  Bluet  shrugged  his  shoulders,  again  he  an- 
swered dubiously  that,  "  en  veritd,  that  might  be  so  ;" 
and  then,  saying  that  "Monsieur  le  Capitaine  must 
hope  for  the  best,"  he  took  himself  off. 

So,  in  this  hapless  frame  of  mind,  Bertie  sat  down 
to  pass  the  first  night  in  his  new  lodging.  That  he 
should  sleep  was  impossible,  and  therefore  bidding 
the  marquis,  who  had  already  got  into  his  bed,  "  Good- 
night," he  dragged  a  chair  in  front  of  the  barred  fire- 
place and  sat  there  brooding  through  the  hours.  Of 
Fordingbridge,  who  was  lying  outside  his  bed,  neither 
of  the  others  had  taken  any  heed,  and  even  when  he 
muttered  incoherently  Bertie  regarded  him  not. 

As  he  sat  there  watching  the  fire  die,  he  heard  the 
great  clock  over  the  gateway  strike  eleven  ;  as  he  still 
sat  on,  listening  for  any  sound  which  might  announce 
the  coming  of  those  who  would  be  sent  to  fetch  him, 
he  heard  it  strike  twelve.  Yet  still  no  one  came.  By 
this  time  the  candle  in  the  socket  high  up  out  of  reach 
was  flickering  and  flaring  at  its  last  ebb  and  throwing 
great  shadows  on  the  walls;  and- once,  as  he  looked 
round  the  room,  disturbed  by  some  movement  of 
Fordingbridge's,  he  saw  that  the  latter  was  sitting  up 
on  his  bed  peering  at  him  with  his  great  hollow  vacant 
eyes,  in  which  the  glare  of  madness  was  almost  inten- 
sified by  the  unsteady  waverings  of  the  candle's  flame. 
Then,  as  the  great  clock  tolled  one,  the  light  went 
out,  and  he  heard  Fordingbridge  throw  himself  back 
on  his  bed. 

Still  the  time  went  on— once  Fordingbridge  laughed 
in  the  dark,  an  imbecile,  vacant  laugh ;  once,  he  could 
have  sworn,  he  heard  him  mutter  "  Sholto !  "  and  once 


2;6  DENOUNCED. 

he  moved  uneasily  on  his  pallet  and  groaned — and 
then  the  clock  struck  two.  But  still  he  sat  on  in  the 
darkness  before  the  dead  fire,  waiting,  waiting.  And, 
at  last,  he  heard  a  sound  of  a  door  opening  in  a  distant 
corridor,  then  another,  and  then  footsteps  approach- 
ing. And  a  moment  later  Bluet's  voice  was  speaking 
outside. 

"Monsieur,"  he  heard  him  say,  "Jeregrette  beau- 
coup,  but  the  judges  have  departed  ;  monsieur's  chance 
is  not  yet  arrived." 

And  with  a  heart-broken  groan  Bertie  groped  his 
way  to  where  his  bed  had  been  placed  and  flung  him- 
self upon  it,  while,  as  he  did  so,  he  heard  his  maniacal 
foe  at  the  other  end  of  the  calotte  muttering  to  himself 
and  laughing  once  more. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

"HIS    HOURS    TO    THEIR    LAST    MINUTE    MOUNTED." 

AFTER  that  night  Bertie  ceased  to  believe  that  he 
would  ever  go  forth  from  the  Bastille;  a  lethargy, 
which  was  partly  despair  and  partly  a  fierce,  bitter 
repining  at  the  inexplicable,  unmerited  cruelty  which 
had  consigned  him  to  such  a  place,  took  possession  of 
his  spirits,  and  he  came  to  regard  himself  as  one  who 
was  dead  to  the  world  for  ever. 

Yet  from  the  other — to  whose  long  sufferings  his 
own  could  at  present  form  no  comparison — he  received 
consolation  in  many  forms ;  from  De  Chevagny,  con- 
tinual exhortations  were  made  that  he  should  never 
lose  heart,  while  even  Bluet  would  tell  him,  in  his 
own  familiar,  good-natured  manner,  that  he  was  far 
too  young  a  visitor  to  consider  himself  a  permanency 
as  yet. 

"  There  have  been  men  here,"  said  the  marquis,  re- 
peating the  same  stories  over  and  over  again  to  him 
for  his  comfort,  "who  have  not  given  up  hope  for 
years,  who  have  then  done  so  and  become  despairing, 
and  have  then,  after  still  more  years,  gone  out  free." 
After  which  he  would  tell  of  the  Dutch  doctor  who 
had  been  mistaken  for  the  Alsatian  poisoner;  of  others 
who  had  been  there  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  years,  and  had 
at  last  got  away ;  indeed,  to  solace  poor  Bertie,  the 
marquis  more  than  once  said  that  even  he  himself, 

277 


278 


DENOUNCED. 


after  forty-three  years,  had  not  lost  all  courage,  and 
hoped  to  spend  some  few  of  those  remaining  to  him  in 
freedom.  Yet,  as  the  other  looked  in  his  face  and 
heard  his  sad,  trembling  tones,  he  knew  that  it  was  but 
pity  that  inspired  the  words;  that,  in  his  heart,  De 
Chevagny  knew  he  would  never  be  released. 

From  Falmy — by  use  of  their  letters  which,  in  spite 
of  the  change  in  lodging,  they  could  still  make  visible 
to  one  another — he  received  also  many  sentences  of 
encouragement  and  counsel,  while  one  day  there  came 
from  that  unhappy  man  a  piece  of  information  which 
once  more  set  his  heart  beating  with  hope,  and  raised 
great  expectations. 

"  I  have  been  joined  by  another  prisoner,"  he  sig- 
nalled across  to  the  window  of  the  calotte.  "  He  is, 
however,  about  to  obtain  his  liberty — awaits  only  his 
signed  acquittal  from  D'Argenson.  If  you  have  mes- 
sages to  send,  he  will  deliver  them  if  possible." 

In  an  instant  Bertie  had  snatched  from  an  old 
trunk  that  had  been  brought  by  De  Chevagny  the  let- 
ters which  he  used,  and  a  few  moments  later  he  had 
begun  to  signal  a  message  to  his  mother,  which  he  in- 
tended to  augment  by  another  to  Kate.  His  heart 
beat  high  as  he  did  so  ;  he  knew  that,  if  this  prisoner 
who  was  to  be  released  was  only  faithful,  in  a  few 
days  at  most  the  two  women  who  loved  him  so  would 
know  of  his  whereabouts,  though  they  were  powerless 
to  obtain  his  freedom.  Yet,  could  even  that  be  possi- 
ble ?  Who  could  say  ?  His  mother  might  represent 
to  the  King  his  long  and  faithful  services  in  the  regi- 
ment ;  Kate  might  have  powerful  friends  at  court  who 
could  do  something. 

With  trembling  hands  he  formed  the  words,  letter 
by  letter.  "  Tell  him  my  name  is  Elphinston.  Bid 


"HIS   HOURS  TO  THEIR  LAST."  27o 

him  seek  out  my  mother.     She  lives  at  the  Rue " 

Alas  !  as  he  finished  the  last  letter  of  the  word  "  Rue," 
upon  the  calotte  about  the  tower  in  which  Falmy  was 
there  appeared  the  cone-shaped  shako,  or  cap,  worn 
by  the  corps  de  garde  of  the  Bastille,  followed  by  the 
body  of  a  sentry,  and,  hastily  leaving  the  window,  he 
desisted  from  his  work.  He  was  foiled  for  the  day  at 
least ;  the  sentry  he  knew,  was  set  on  that  particular 
tower,  and  either  he  or  those  who  relieved  him  would 
be  there  for  twenty-four  hours.  And  as  he  reflected 
that  in  those  twenty-four  hours  the  acquit  from  D'Ar- 
genson  might  come  for  the  prisoner  who  was  about  to 
be  released,  he  felt  as  if  he  would  go  mad. 

Falmy  appeared  at  his  window  often  during  the 
day,  looking  wistfully  up  to  the  calotte,  though  Bertie, 
who  could  still  observe  him  when  standing  back  from 
the  window,  dared  make  no  sign.  It  would  matter 
nothing  for  the  soldiers  to  see  him  at  the  opening — 
the  prisoners  were  allowed  the  privilege  of  looking 
out  if  the  windows  were  low  enough  to  permit  of  their 
doing  so — but  the  slightest  communication  that  should 
be  observed  to  pass  between  them  would  be  visited 
with  the  most  severe  punishment,  even  to  confinement 
in  the  dungeons  beneath  the  ditch.  He  perceived, 
therefore,  all  the  signs  of  distress  on  Falmy's  face;  he 
even  observed  him  turn  round,  and  saw  his  lips  move 
as  he  gesticulated  to  his  new  companion  within  the 
room;  he  could  guess,  as  plainly  as  though  he  had 
heard  him,  what  the  Genevese  was  saying.  He  felt 
sure  that  he  was  explaining  that  there  must  be  a  sen- 
try above  them,  and  that  therefore  Elphinston  dared 
not  signal  across. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  poor  Bertie,  "oh,  if  I  had  but 
acquainted  them  with  my  mother's  address  at  once  be- 


280  DENOUNCED. 

fore  the  guard  was  set !  that  would  have  been  enough. 
Fool !  fool  that  I  am  to  lose  so  fair  a  chance  !  The 
very  visit  of  a  man  set  free  from  this  place  to  my 
mother's  house  would  have  alarmed  her  suspicions, 
would  have  told  her  all.  And  now,  now,  he  knows  not 
where  to  go.  God  help  me  !  it  was  my  only  hope,  and 
I  have  lost  it." 

All  day  he  watched  the  roof  of  the  opposite  tower, 
hoping  against  hope,  for  he  knew  the  guard  would  only 
be  changed,  and  not  removed.  He  watched  still  as  the 
shadows  of  the  winter  evening  deepened  into  night, 
and  still  also  he  watched  until  the  night  itself  had 
come  and  both  tower  and  sentry  were  obscured  in 
darkness.  And  as  he  kept  his  dreary  vigil  all  through 
the  day,  he  saw  Falmy's  face  at  his  own  window,  star- 
ing at  him  with  sad  and  melancholy  glances,  but  with- 
out any  sign  being  made  by  him,  so  that  he  knew 
that  a  guard  had  been  placed  above  the  roof  of  his 
tower  as  well. 

"  On  any  other  day  it  would  have  mattered  noth- 
ing," he  moaned  to  himself.  Oh,  why  to-day  of  all 
days  should  these  towers  have  been  selected  !  " 

It  was  so  absolute  a  chance,  such  a  coincidence, 
that  the  guard  should  happen  to  have  been  placed  at 
this  part  of  the  Bastille  on  this  particular  occasion 
that  his  misery  and  mental  anxiety  were  not  strange. 
Of  all  the  days  he  had  been  in  the  calotte,  there  was 
scarce  one  that  could  have  been  worse  for  him  and  his 
prospects. 

The  restless  night  passed,  the  dawn  broke,  cold, 
grey,  and  miserable,  and  springing  from  his  bed  he 
rushed  to  the  window — only  to  see  above  the  opposite 
tower  a  sentry  still  there.  The  twenty-four  hours' 
guard  was  not  yet  finished,  would  not  be  until  the 


"HIS   HOURS   TO   THEIR   LAST."  2gl 

great  clock  over  the  gate  should  clang  out  nine.  And 
it  was  not  yet  eight  o'clock  on  this  dreary  February 
morning!  But  at  last  the  hour  arrived.  The  sentry 
presented  arms  to  the  King's  Lieutenant  who  came  to 
dismiss  him  from  his  post.  As  the  clock  struck,  the 
roof  was  deserted,  and  a  few  minutes  later  Falmy's 
face  appeared  at  the  window.  But  he  shook  his  head 
mournfully,  and  then,  with  his  board  and  piece  of 
charcoal,  he  communicated  the  melancholy  words, 
"The  prisoner  went  forth  at  eight  o'clock." 

And  now,  indeed,  Bertie  gave  himself  up  to  despair 
— black  despair  that  grew  deeper  and  deeper  as  the 
weeks  crept  by  one  after  the  other;  as  slowly  the 
cruel,  griping  Paris  winter  passed,  and  gradually  they 
knew  that  spring  was  coming.  Yet  to  him  who  had 
once  welcomed  the  birth  of  new  summers  with  such 
eagerness,  the  one  now  on  its  way  to  gladden  the 
earth  brought  no  comfort.  The  swallows  came  back 
and  circled  round  and  round  the  towers  of  the  prison, 
and  began,  with  countless  chirps  and  squeaks,  to  build 
their  nests  below  the  gloomy  eaves,  yet  he  only  found 
himself  wondering1  vaguely  why,  when  they  were  free, 
they  should  choose  so  foul  a  place.  Also,  over  in  the 
garret  windows  of  the  Rue  St.  Antoine  he  saw  daily  a 
girl  tending  some  flowers  in  a  box,  even  saw  the  tint 
of  the  flowers  themselves  as  they  burst  into  bloom, 
and  wondered,  too,  if  she,  who  had  her  liberty,  ever 
cast  one  thought  to  the  poor  prisoners  confined  so 
near  to  her. 

As  for  his  companions,  De  Chevagny  and  Fording- 
bridge,  they  seemed,  from  opposite  reasons,  to  be  in- 
different to  any  changes  that  the  season  might  bring, 
though  sometimes  the  former  would  stand  at  the 
window  and  hold  out  his  hands  and  let  the  warm  May 


282  DENOUNCED. 

sun — for  May  had  come — stream  down  upon  them  and 
his  face,  and  whisper  sadly  that  for  those  who  could 
be  out  in  the  woods  and  fields  it  was  good,  very  good. 
Then,  when  he  was  tired  of  standing  or  sitting  thus, 
he  would  cast  himself  on  his  bed  and  sigh,  and  so  sleep 
away  the  hours. 

With  Fordingbridge,  both  he  and  Elphinston  had 
ceased  to  hold  any  converse  at  all;  nor,  indeed,  had 
they  been  willing  to  talk  with  him,  was  it  possible  that 
he  could  either  have  understood  or  replied  to  them. 
His  madness  seemed  to  grow  upon  him  daily,  and, 
while  he  became  more  taciturn,  also  he  became  more 
imbecile.  Once  he  woke  Bertie  in  the  early  morning 
by  crawling  to  his  bedside,  and,  holding  out  a  piece  of 
string  which  he  had  found  imbedded  in  the  filth  of  the 
floor,  asked  him  to  hang  him  ere  they  could  lead  him 
to  the  wheel ;  and  one  night  he  raved  and  moaned  so 
through  the  dark  hours — and  on  this  occasion  the 
other  heard  him  beyond  all  doubt  mutter  the  name  of 
Archibald — that  the  prison  doctor  was  sent  for  the 
next  day. 

This  official,  who  was  addressed  diversely  by  Bluet 
as  Monsieur  le  Docteur  Herment  and  Monsieur  V Abbe 
Herment  when  he  brought  him  in,  seemed  to  be  in 
about  the  same  state  of  semi-drunkenness  as  the  turn- 
key generally  was,  and  to  be  also  an  inordinately  vain 
creature.  He  had  on  his  head  a  golden-haired  wig 
which,  while  he  was  examining  the  unhappy  wretch 
Fordingbridge,  he  was  engaged  in  telling  Bertie  had 
been  made  from  the  hair  of  one  of  his  cheres  amies  who 
loved  him  truly;  and  he  also  remarked  that  some 
silver  buckles  on  his  shoes  had  been  given  him  by  a 
grande  dame  who  had  recently  been  released  from  the 
Bastille. 


"HIS    HOURS   TO   THEIR   LAST."  2g, 

"  What  of  the  patient  ? "  asked  the  latter  sternly, 
such  observations  being  unwelcome  to  him.  "Will  his 
lunacy  increase,  think  you?" 

"Mafoi!"  exclaimed  the  abbe,  or  doctor,  "so 
much  so  that  it  is  my  duty  to  warn  the  Society  of 
Jesuits  to  be  expeditious  with  what  they  have  to  do. 
Otherwise  they  will  miss  their  victim,  and  our  good 
Parisians  will  lose  a  spectacle.  The  wheel  furnishes 
many  a  fete  in  the  Place  de  Greve." 

"  Will  they  do  that  ?  "  asked  Bertie.  "  Will  they 
execute  so  miserable  a  wretch  as  this  ?  " 

"  Bien  sur,  they  will.  Was  there  ever  a  Jesuit  who 
forgave  ? " 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  They  say  he  has  slain  a 
priest." 

But  the  other  was  not  to  be  entrapped  like  this,  so, 
with  a  wink,  he  replied  :  "  Monsieur,  you  should  know 
by  now  that  Madame  La  Bastille  keeps  her  secrets  well. 
But  this  I  will  tell  you."  and  he  pointed  as  he  spoke  to 
Fordingbridge,  who  was  writhing  on  his  bed,  though 
none  in  the  room  could  guess  whether  he  understood 
what  was  being  said  or  not,  "he  is  doomed.  And 
since  he  appears  likely  to  escape  the  examiners  if 
there  is  much  more  delay,  his  time  will  not  be  long 
now.  Not  long.  Not  very  long  !  Oh,  no  !  Bon  jour, 
messieurs,  I  have  my  report  to  make  to  the  Governor. 
Yet,  since  we  must  not  lose  our  friend,  I  will  send  him 
a  draught." 

Whether  the  creature'  really  made  his  report  as  he 
said  he  should,  and  thereby  hastened  Fordingbridge's 
end,  Bertie  Elphinston  never  knew,  but  at  any  rate  it 
came  soon  afterwards. 

It  was  on  one  night,  one  i4th  of  May,  when  the 
weather  had  taken  an  extraordinary  change,  and  all 
19 


284 


DENOUNCED. 


the  warmth  of  the  coming  summer  seemed  to  have 
disappeared  and  winter  to  have  returned,  and  when 
from  their  window  they  could  see  slight  flakes  of  snow 
mingled  with  the  falling  rain,  that  Bluet,  bringing  in 
the  supper,  appeared  to  be  especially  solicitous  that 
Fordingbridge  should  make  a  good  meal. 

" Mangez,  mon  ami"  he  said,  as  the  other  crouched 
on  his  bed,  staring  round  the  room  with  the  hunted 
expression  that  was  always  now  in  his  eyes — "  mangez 
bien.  Make  a  good  supper.  Mon  Dieu  !  you  eat  noth- 
ing of  late,"  and  he  came  over  to  the  table  where  the 
others  sat  and  asked  their  permission  to  tempt  the 
idiot  with  some  meat  and  biscuits.  Then,  as  he  bent 
over  to  take  them  from  the  dish,  he  whispered  signifi- 
cantly : 

"  He  goes  to-morrow.  Before  daybreak." 
If  Bertie  had  known  that  the  doomed  man  had,  to 
his  other  crimes,  added  that  of  cowardly  slaying  his 
bosom  friend  Douglas,  could  it  have  been  possible 
that  into  his  heart  there  could  have  come  the  feeling 
— was  it  pity — that  now  arose  ?  At  last,  then,  Ford- 
ingbridge's  end  had  come ;  he  was  to  pay  for  all  ! 
And — and — for  of  such  complex  emotions  are  we 
formed — as  Bertie  heard  that  his  doom  was  sealed,  he 
forgot  the  wrongs  he  had  suffered  at  this  man's  hands ; 
he  forgot  the  wreck  of  his  and  of  Kate's  life  ;  if  he 
did  not  forgive  him,  he  compassionated  him.  Rising 
from  his  chair  he  went  over  to  the  bed  where  Fording- 
bridge was  seated,  and  on  which  he  shrank  from  him 
as  he  approached,  and,  pointing  to  the  biscuit  he  held 
in  his  trembling  hands,  he  said,  very  gently,  "  Eat, 
Fordingbridge,  eat.  It  will  do  you  good.  And,  see,  you 
have  nothing  to  drink,"  and  going  back  to  the  table  he 
poured  out  a  cup  of  wine  and  brought  it  to  him. 


"HIS   HOURS  TO  THEIR   LAST."  285 

With  still  trembling  hands  the  madman  took  it 
from  him,  glinting  at  him  over  the  cup  as  though 
afraid,  and  watching  him  as  though  fearful  that  at  any 
moment  a  blow  might  be  dealt ;  and  then,  when  he  had 
drained  the  last  drop,  he  began  slowly  to  munch  the 
biscuit,  which  he  kept  shut  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  as 
though  someone  was  about  to  take  it  from  him. 

"  Do  you  ever,"  asked  Bertie,  speaking  slowly  and 
distinctly,  as  if  he  might  thereby  make  him  understand 
what  he  was  saying,  "  do  you  ever  think  of  those  who 
— who  were  once  dear  to  you  ?  If — if — it  should 
please  God  in  His  infinite  mercy  that,  some  day,  per- 
haps in  some  far-off,  remote  day,  I  may  depart  from 
here,  and  you — may  not — not  accompany  me,  is  there 
any  word,  any  message,  you  would  wish  to  send  ?" 

Still  Fordingbridge  shrank  from  him,  creeping,  edg- 
ing farther  away  from  where  he  had  sat  down  by  his 
side,  but  he  uttered  no  word.  Only,  still  his  eyes 
roamed  restlessly  over  Bertie's  form,  and  still  his 
mouth  worked  convulsively  as  ever,  and  his  hands 
twitched. 

"  Think.  Reflect,  I  beseech  you,"  the  man  whom 
he  had  wronged  so  much  continued,  "  you  are  not 
well — you  may — at  any  moment — be  worse.  And  I, 
forgetful  of  the  past,  would,  if  it  ever  comes  into 
my  power,  very  willingly  do  this  for  you.  Fording- 
bridge, you  may  trust  me.  As  I  sit  by  you  to-night, 
I  cast  away  for  ever  from  my  memory  the  evil  you 
have  wrought  me ;  I  desire  only  that,  if  I  can,  I  may 
serve  you.  Can  I  do  nothing?" 

And  still  the  other  shrank  from  him,  understand- 
ing, perhaps,  not  one  word  that  he  said.  Once  more, 
however,  Bertie  continued  : 

"If  you  can  comprehend  me,  I  pray  you  do  so. 


286  DENOUNCED. 

Think,  remember.  You  had  a  wife  once;  before  God 
I  believe  she  is  your  wife  now,  and  always  has  been  ; 
I  do  not  believe  that  you  deceived  her.  Have  you 
no  word  for  her,  no  plea  for  pardon,  no  request  that, 
as  time  goes  on,  she  may  come  to  think  of  you  without 
bitterness  ?  Also  there  are  others — Archibald  Sholto 
and  Douglas ' 

A  cry  from  the  maniacal  lips  interrupted  him — a 
hoarse  cry  such  as  an  Animal  in  pain,  an  animal  that 
had  been  struck  suddenly  and  unawares,  might  utter. 

"Douglas!  Douglas!  Douglas!"  he  shrieked. 
"Douglas!  Douglas!"  and  so  continued  muttering 
that  name  again  and  again.  Then,  with  another 
sound,  half  wail,  half  sigh,  he  flung  himself  back  on 
his  bed,  and  thus  spent  his  last  night  on  earth.  Yet, 
even  on  that  night,  through  the  whole  of  which  he 
chattered  unintelligible  words  to  himself,  he  laughed 
once  or  twice  convulsively,  and  as  though  suffocating 
with  suppressed  mirth. 


As  the  shadows  of  the  night  departed  and  the 
morning  gave  signs  of  breaking,  with  still  the  snow- 
flakes  mingling  with  the  rain  that  beat  against  the 
windows  of  the  towers,  they  came  for  him — the  King's 
Lieutenant,  accompanied  by  four  of  the  corps  de  garde. 

"  Put  on  your  cloak,  if  you  have  one,"  that  officer 
said  to  the  miserable  creature  shrinking  back  to  the 
wall,  while  he  shivered  all  over  and  uttered  his  broken 
cries — "put  on  your  cloak,  and  come." 

"In  pity  leave  him!"  exclaimed  Bertie;  "in  the 
name  of  Christianity,  of  humanity,  refrain  from  taking 
so  miserable  a  life  as  this  !  Vile  as  he  has  been,  see, 
see  what  he  is  now !  It  is  as  though  you  took  the 


"HIS    HOURS   TO   THEIR   LAST.' 


28; 


life  of  a  helpless  child,  of  a  dumb  brute.  As  you  hope 
for  mercy,  show  some." 

"  I  am  but  an  instrument,"  said  the  Lieutenant ;  "  I 
have  my  orders;  willingly  or  unwillingly  I  must  obey 
them.  And  if  I  would  spare  him,  nay,  if  my  master 
the  King  would  spare  him,  the  Church  would  not.  He 
is  in  their  grip ;  it  will  be  unfastened  an  hour  hence, 
when  he  is  dead."  Then,  turning  to  the  soldiers,  he 
said,  "  Bring  him  away." 

They  took  the  shaking  wretch — no  longer  a  man 
but  only  a  living  thing — by  the  arms  and  led  him 
moaning  to  the  door;  yet,  when  he  had  arrived  there, 
he  had  the  strength  to  wrench  one  of  them  free;  and 
looking  round  at  Bertie  for  the  last  time  in  the  world, 
and  with  his  starting,  scintillating  eyes  fixed  on  him, 
he  raised  that  arm,  the  hand  clenched  as  though  grasp- 
ing a  weapon,  and — once — twice — struck  downward 
fiercely  with  it. 

Then  he  was  gone  for  ever. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

KATE    LEARNS    SHE    IS    FREE. 

A  GREAT  masked  ball  was  over  at  the  opera  house; 
the  candles  were  burning  down  into  their  sockets  in 
the  girandoles  and  lustres;  the  May  morning,  which 
under  ordinary  circumstances  should  have  broken  so 
soft  and  bright,  had  dawned  foul,  rainy,  and  snowy  ; 
and  carriages,  hackney  coaches,  and  sedan  chairs  were 
pushing  their  way  up  to  the  doors  of  the  theatre  and 
carrying  off  their  employers  to  their  houses  and  beds. 

But  all  were  not  yet  departed  ;  some  still  sat  drink- 
ing or  chatting  at  the  supper  tables;  some  danced  in 
groups  without  any  music  to  accompany  them  except 
the  airs  which  they  hummed  or  whistled  themselves, 
for  the  orchestra  had  put  up  its  instruments  and  gone 
also  to  its  bed;  and  some,  principally  men,  struggled 
and  pushed  in  the  vestiaires  to  obtain  cloaks,  roque- 
laures,  hats  and  riding  hoods,  and  swords — which  lat- 
ter could  not  by  law  be  worn  in  the  ball-room.  Mock 
harlequins  jostled  imitation  Henrys  of  Navarre;  mock 
monks  swore  at  supposed  Crusaders  ;  minotaurs  and 
cavaliers  and  priests  all  contended  against  one  an- 
other for  their  and  their  female  companions'  wraps, 
and  at  the  same  time  laughed  and  jested  and  pro- 
posed breakfasts  at  neighbouring  taverns,  or  a  visit  to 
the  gambling  hells,  which  on  such  nights  as  these  kept 
their  doors  perpetually  open. 

288 


KATE  LEARNS  SHE  IS  FREE. 


289 


Amidst  all  this  confusion  there  ran  through  the 
whole  place  a  rumour — a  whisper,  which  reached  first 
those  in  the  vestiaires,  and  next  the  people  at  the  sup- 
per tables — that  those  who  so  chose  might  yet  finish 
their  night's  enjoyment  with  another  spectacle—a 
grim  and  dismal  but  still  enjoyable  one — which  was 
far  better  than  any  tavern  breakfast  or  punting  at  the 
gaming  table. 

"  Figurez-vous  !  "  screamed  one  reveller,  a  deformed 
creature  by  nature,  who  had,  with  true  Parisian  appre- 
ciation of  ludicrousness,  arrayed  himself  consequently 
as  Venus — " Jlgurez-vous,  mes  enfants,  there  are  two  for 
execution,  although,  malheufeusement,  but  only  one  is 
to  be  broken.  The  other,  they  say—  because, peste  !  he 
is  a  sal  Anglais  and  also  of  high  rank — escapes  the 
wheel  and  is  only  to  be  decapitated.  A  curse  upon 
the  law,  say  I,  that  treats  an  Englishman  better  than 
us !  " 

"  Ma  petite  Venus  de  poche"  remarked  another  to 
him,  clad  as  an  arquebusier,  "have  a  care  how  you 
curse  the  law ;  otherwise  you  may  get  broken  your- 
self. There  are  plenty  of  police  here  in  disguise,  and 
if  they  hear  you,  that  goodly  hump  of  yours  will  stand 
a  fine  chance  of  being  smashed  by  the  executioner's 
bar.  Ma  foil  the  coup  de  grace  is  generally  adminis- 
tered to  the  chest  bone;  with  you,  I  presume,  it  will 
be  administered  on  the  bosse." 

"I  spoke  only  in  jest,"  exclaimed  the  deformed 
one,  glancing  round  apprehensively;  "I  meant  no 
harm.  A  good  subject,  I,  of  the  King  of  France  and 
all  his  ministers.  But  come,  let  us  away.  Who's  for 
the  Greve  ?  Mon  Dieu  !  we  must  not  miss  the  show  ! ' 

"I  am  for  it,  for  one!"  screamed  a  girl  not  over 
twenty,  whose  golden  hair  hung  down  over  her  back, 


290 


DENOUNCED. 


and  whose  tones  and  glances  proclaimed  her  to  be 
already  far  sunken  in  dissipation.  "  I  have  never  yet 
seen  a  man  done  to  death ;  and  as  for  the  wheel,  why, 
I  have  prayed  often  for  a  chance  of  seeing  it.  They 
say  the  coup  de  grace  is  magnificent  if  the — the  patient 
— is  still  sensible.  Now,  in  our  old  village,  before 
the  young  lord  brought  me  to  town,  we  never  saw 
anything  but  a  beggar  in  the  stocks.  And,  dame !  les 
ceps  cease  to  be  interesting  after  one  has  pelted  the 
occupiers  for  half  an  hour." 

"Pretty  things,"  said  the  arquebusier,  looking 
down  sardonically  on  her,  "  have  a  care,  in  a  chere, 
that  you  never  come  to  worse  than  les  ceps  yourself. 
I  have  known  many  country  girls  brought  to  town  by 
their  young  lords,  and — hem! — who  got  worse  shift 
than  the  stocks  when  they  were  discarded." 

"Ah!  voyons  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  "  avec  fa  !  Look 
you,  my  figure  of  fun,  you  are  insolent.  Get  you  home 
to  your  wife  and  family,  and  earn  bread  for  them.  We 
of  the  fashion  desire  none  of  your  banalites" 

Yet,  as  she  spoke,  she  was  being  inducted  into  her 
long  cloak  by  some  of  her  would-be  admirers,  and  also 
many  others  were  getting  ready.  For  Paris  had  not 
had  an  execution  for  some  two  months  now,  and  the 
"half-tiger,  half-monkey  nature"  which  Voltaire  at- 
tributed to  his  countrymen  was  thirsty  for  its  favour- 
ite form  of  entertainment. 

In  the  ball-room  itself  there  sat,  however,  a  group 
very  different  from  those  in  the  vestibule,  who,  since 
the  masquerades  were  open  to  all  who  could  pay  for 
admission,  had  attended  the  ball.  This  group  con- 
sisted of  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Ames — once  Lady  Bel- 
rose — and  Kate,  who,  in  spite  of  her  melancholy  and 
her  ill-health,  had  been  persuaded  to  accompany  them. 


KATE   LEARNS   SHE   IS   FREE.  2QI 

Heaven  knows  such  diversions  were  little  enough  in 
her  way  now  !  yet  Lady  Ames  had  been  kind  to  her 
when  she  needed  kindness,  and,  at  the  express  desire 
of  Sir  Charles  and  his  wife,  she  had  consented  to  go 
with  them. 

In  one  way  she  was  not  unhappy:  she  knew,  she 
felt  certain,  that  this  second  disappearance  of  Bertie 
Elphinston  from  the  knowledge  of  the  world  was  not 
of  his  own  accord.  That  something  terrible  had  hap- 
pened she  could  not  doubt ;  yet  she  knew  also  that, 
whatever  that  something  might  be,  it  was  not  due  to 
any  desire  to  hide  himself  from  her — that  was,  if  he 
was  still  alive.  But  was  he  ? " 

Douglas's  awful  death  by  an  unknown  hand  might 
also  have  been  Elphinston's  lot :  who  could  tell  ? 
And  then  her  own  husband's  disappearance!  Did  not 
that  point  to  some  catastrophe  ?  Over  and  over  again 
she  had  meditated  on  all  these  things,  lying  awake 
for  nights  together,  pondering  over  them,  wondering, 
wondering  always.  For  even  now  she  was  in  total 
ignorance  of  who  the  murderer  of  Douglas  had  been, 
of  what  Archibald  had  discovered.  He  had  written  to 
her  at  intervals,  it  was  true,  but  he  had  either  avoided 
all  reference  to  the  tragedy,  or  had  said  that,  if  the 
murderer  was  ever  brought  to  justice,  she  would 
doubtless  know  all.  Her  husband  he  never  men- 
tioned. 

Yet,  those  who  are  aware  of  what  she  could  not 
guess  can  understand  how  difficult  a  task  it  would 
have  been  for  the  Jesuit  to  tell  her  that  he  had  dis- 
covered the  assassin,  and  that  Fordingbridge,  her  hus- 
band, was  the  man.  It  may  be  that,  after  he  had 
handed  him  over  to  the  proper  authorities,  he  hoped, 
nay,  endeavoured  so  to  arrange  that  she  should  never 


292  DENOUNCED. 

discover  that  her  husband  was  the  criminal.  Better 
that  he  should  disappear  from  her  knowledge  forever, 
go  to  his  doom  without  her  dreaming  that  he  had  paid 
for  the  crime  with  his  life,  than  that  she  should  know 
to  what  a  foul  thing  she  had  been  united. 

The  candles  guttered  lower  in  their  sockets,  the 
attendants  were  putting  out  even  the  few  lights  that 
still  burned;  it  was  time  to  go.  The  opera  house  was 
emptying  fast  of  all  who  had  danced  the  night  away 
there ;  amidst  shrieks  and  whoops  and  yells  the  lower 
class  of  visitors  were  departing  in  coaches  and  chairs 
or  on  foot — some  to  their  homes,  but  many  to  the 
Place  de  Greve.  The  spectacle  of  one  man  being 
broken  to  death  and  another  decapitated  was  not  to 
be  missed. 

"  They  say,"  exclaimed  Sir  Charles,  as  he  returned 
with  the  cloaks  and  hoods  of  the  two  ladies,  "  that  an 
execution  takes  place  this  morning  on  the  Place  de 
Greve.  Hark  !  you  may  hear  the  creatures  chattering 
over  it  as  they  go  forth.  Well,  our  coachman  need 
not  go  through. the  Place,  though  it  is  on  our  road. 
Surely  he  can  skirt  round  it.  At  least,  I  will  bid  him 
do  so,"  and  he  escorted  his  wife  and  Kate  to  their 
carriage. 

Outside,  the  crowd  that  was  making  its  way  to  the 
place  of  execution  was  stamping  down  the  now  fast- 
falling  snow  as  it  fell,  and  hurrying  forward  for  fear  it 
should  be  too  late  for  the  show.  With  renewed  shrieks 
and  yells  it  went  onward,  singing  songs  and  choruses, 
roaring  out  ballads  that  perhaps  it  deemed  suitable  to 
the  occasion,  beating  on  tambours-de-basque  and  little 
labours  which  formed  the  accompaniments  of  many  of 
the  masquers'  costumes,  and  hammering  on  doors  that 
were  as  yet  unopened,  with  their  shepherds'  crooks 


KATE   LEARNS  SHE   IS  FREE.  203 

and  wooden  swords  (which  were  allowed  to  form  part 
of  their  dress)  and  canes,  and  howling  at  the  inhabit- 
ants to  arise  and  come  forth  to  le  spectacle.  They 
halted  very  little  on  their  short  way,  sometimes  only 
to  shake  the  falling  snow  off  their  clothes,  sometimes 
to  wipe  the  paint  and  raddle  from  their  faces  which 
the  wet  snow  had  turned  into  sticky  filth,  and  some- 
times to  kick  over  the  braziers  of  the  early  morning 
chestnut-sellers,  or  to  run  into  an  early-opened  wine- 
shop, hastily  gulp  down  a  drink,  and  then  go  on  again. 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  Sir  Charles,  as  the  slow- 
progressing  coach  kept  pace  with  the  creatures  that 
passed  along  the  miserable  three-foot  sideways  or 
crunched  along  the  road — "heavens!  what  a  crowd 
is  a  Parisian  one  !  Their  laughter  is  as  ferocious  in 
its  way  as  the  roughness  of  our  English  rabble — nay, 
I  believe,  far  more  deadly.  How  they  revel  in  what 
they  are  going  to  see  !  " 

"  I  tell  you,  my  friends,"  screamed  one  painted 
harridan  from  the  sedan  chair  she  was  being  carried 
in,  to  a  number  of  her  friends  who  walked  beside  it, 
"that  it  is  a  great,  a  magnificent  spectacle.  I  have 
seen  it,  voyez-vous,  at  Lyons,  on  the  Place  Bellecour, 
often — once,  twice,  thrice.  Ma  foi!  the  shriek  at  the 
first  blow  as  the  man  lies  back,  his  body  tied  to  the 
wheel,  is  pene'trant  jcrasant !  And  so  on,  the  cries  be- 
coming lower,  till  they  are  no  better  than  sobs  or 
groans,  until  the  coup  de  grace.  Then,  sometimes,  but 
alas!  not  always,  there  will  be  one  more  wild  shriek, 
andzw/tf/  c'estfini.  After  that  it  is  always  time  for 
breakfast." 

One  or  two  girls  in  the  crowd  making  its  way  on- 
ward glanced  at  the  ogress  in  the  sedan  chair  and 
turned  white;  and  Kate,  who  had  heard  all  her  words, 


294 


DENOUNCED. 


grasped  Lady  Belrose's  hand;  while  a  man,  walking 
steadily  along  through  the  snow,  answered  the  woman, 
saying: 

"Peste  !  'tis  not  always  as  good  as  that.  I  waited 
once  all  through  a  summer  night  at  Caen  to  see  a 
man  broken — I  remember  we  played  cards,  I  and  the 
others,  in  the  moonlight,  and  I  lost  four  gold  pistoles 
— and,  dame!  the  fellow  was  a  favoured  one.  Fa- 
voured, you  understand.  A  vile  aristocrat.  So,  as  we 
thought,  they  strangled  him  as  they  bound  him,  and, 
malediction!  he  suffered  not  at  all.  Never  screamed 
once — not  once.  'Twas  a  cruel  wrong  to  the  spec- 
tators." 

"  'Tis  an  aristocrat  who  suffers  to-day,  they  say," 
another  man  exclaimed. 

"  Nay,"  screamed  still  another,  "  not  so.  The  aris- 
tocrat will  suffer  not ;  they  will  but  slice  his  head  off 
with  the  axe.  There  is  no  suffering  in  that ;  'tis  done 
and  over  in  a  moment.  Yet  I  would  see  him  die,  too. 
He  is  an  English  aristocrat,  and  I  hate  all  English ; 
one  beat  me  the  other  day  for  regarding  his  flaxen- 
haired  wife  too  admiringly !  I  have  never  seen  an 
Englishman  die.  They  are  brutes,  yet  they  have  the 
courage  of  devils." 

"  An  English  aristocrat !  "  said  Sir  Charles  to  his 
companions.  "  I  do  not  understand  this.  There  have 
been  no  Englishmen  arrested  in  Paris  for  a  longtime; 
otherwise  I  must  have  heard  of  it  among  our  friends 
here.  What  does  he  mean  ? " 

"  My  dear  Charles,"  replied  his  wife,  "you  do  not 
know  the  Parisians  very  well.  An  English  aristocrat 
to  them  is  any  Englishman  who  is  outside  his  own 
country  for  pleasure  and  with  his  pocket  well  lined 
with  guineas.  Doubtless,  however,  this  is  some  needy 


KATE   LEARNS   SHE   IS   FREE.  2Q5 

ragamuffin  or  copper  captain,  who  has  come  to  the 
scaffold  for  his  sins,  and  they  suppose  him  an  aristo- 
crat." 

Whatever  Sir  Charles  may  have  replied  was  drowned 
now  by  an  increase  of  the  howls  and  yells  of  the 
crowd,  by  fiercer  beatings  on  the  tambours- de-basque 
and  tabours,  by  snatches  of  wild,  frenzied  songs,  and 
by  bursts  of  hysterical  laughter. 

The  Place  de  Greve  was  in  sight. 

"  Turn  off  !"  said  Sir  Charles,  putting  his  head  out 
of  the  window  and  addressing  the  coachman — "turn 
off,  I  say  !  I  told  you  to  leave  the  route  to  that  in- 
fernal Place  and  avoid  it.  Why  have  you  disobeyed 
me?" 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  looked 
round  from  his  seat — doubtless,  in  spite  of  the  orders 
he  had  received,  he  meant  to  see  le  spectacle  himself  if 
possible — then  he  said  : 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  impossible  to  turn  off,  or  scarcely 
now  to  proceed.  The  crowd  encompasses  us.  Yet 
the  Place  is  not  so  full  but  we  may  pass  through  it. 
Mon  Dieu  !  if  it  had  been  a  fine  May  morning,  a  fly 
could  not  have  passed." 

«  Is— is    there    anything— dreadful— taking  place 

yet  ?     If  so,  we  will  not  proceed." 

The  driver  stood  up  on  his  box  and  gazed  forward  ; 
then  he  shook  his  head  and  said : 

"Non,  monsieur,  there  is  nothing.     Only  the  erec- 
tion itself,  and  the  soldiers  and  people ;  not  many  of 
the  latter,  either.     Nous  autres"  pointing  to  the  howl- 
ing crowd  from  the  Bal  Masque  seething  around  them, 
«  will  double  the  sightseers."    But  he  muttered  to  h 
self,  «  Ere  we  get  into  the  middle  of  the  Place  we 
see  something,  or  I'm  a  stupid  escargot" 


296 


DENOUNCED. 


"  Go  on,  then,"  said  Sir  Charles,  "  as  quickly  as  you 
can,  since  you  cannot  now  turn  round.  Lose  no 
time."  And  he  spoke  to  his  companions,  saying, 
"  Best  put  on  your  masks.  This  is  no  place  for  ladies 
to  be  seen  in.  But  we  shall  be  through  it  all  in  five 
minutes." 

Lady  Belrose  and  Kate  did  as  he  bade  them,  and 
then  the  coach  went  on,  slowly  following  all  those  in  the 
road  before  them.  Unfortunately,  it  had  no  curtains  to 
the  windows,  which  shut  from  within  as  was  the  custom 
of  the  day,  otherwise  the  baronet  would  have  closed 
out  the  whole  of  their  surroundings.  But  this  was 
impossible. 

And  still  the  crowd  accompanying  them  shrieked 
and  howled  more  and  more — fighting  and  struggling 
to  pass  each  other  ;  thrusting  those  in  front  of  them 
away,  elbowing  and  pushing — the  man  who  had 
waited  all  night  at  Caen  playing  at  cards,  throwing 
another  almost  under  the  wheels  of  Sir  Charles's 
coach,  while  a  girl  was  borne  down  in  the  crush  and 
dragged  aside  fainting — stamping  with  glee  and  ex- 
citement, almost  dancing  in  frenzy. 

For  the  bell  of  the  neighbouring  church  was  toll- 
ing now,  and,  through  the  flakes  of  snow  as  they  fell, 
the  wheel  and  the  block  for  the  two  condemned  men 
were  visible  on  the  scaffold. 

That  scaffold  itself  was  a  platform  some  seven  feet 
high,  around  which  stood  a  company  of  the  grenadiers, 
with,  on  either  side  of  it,  a  guard  of  the  musketeers. 
On  the  left  of  it  was  the  wheel  itself,  fixed  hori- 
zontally between  stout  wooden  supports  let  into  the 
platform,  it  being  a  large  cannon-wheel.  On  the 
right  side  was  a  headsman's  block,  with,  beneath  it,  a 
basket  filled  with  sawdust,  now  half  covered  by 


KATE   LEARNS  SHE   IS  FREE.  2Q7 

snow.  By  the  wheel  and  leaning  against  it  was  a 
huge  club,  iron-bound  at  the  head,  and  at  this  sight 
the  crowd  became  still  more  excited,  if  possible,  point- 
ing it  out  to  each  other  and  saying,  "  Behold,  la 
massue.  She  will  do  her  work  well,  fapese  bien,"  and 
laughing  and  screaming  once  more,  and  rubbing  their 
hands. 

Next  came  a  roar,  with  shrieks  from  women  and 
more  faintings  among  them,  while,  by  some  impulse 
unrecognised  perhaps  by  themselves,  all  of  the  latter 
produced  their  masks  and  put  them  on.  It  may  be 
that  something  feminine,  some  feeling  of  womanly 
shame,  prompted  them  to  hide  their  features,  to  dis- 
guise their  presence  there.  As  for  the  men,  the  ex- 
citability of  their  natures  affected  them  in  a  different 
way,  for  at  what  was  happening  now  some  of  them, 
even  strangers  to  each  other,  shook  hands  effusively, 
and  some  clapped  others  on  the  back. 

For  the  condemned  ones  were  in  sight. 

They  came  forth  together  from  a  small  door  in 
the  wall  of  the  Hdtel  de  Ville,  side  by  side,  these  two 
who  were  to  suffer  ;  one — he  who  was  to  perish  on 
the  wheel — being  nearly  naked,  and  having  on  him 
nothing  but  a  short  pair  of  breeches  reaching  to  his 
knees  and  a  sleeveless  singlet.  He  was  a  great,  bull- 
chested  man,  with  massive  limbs  that  would  have  be- 
come a  gladiator,  and,  as  he  strode  along  attended  by 
a  confessor  with  a  crucifix  in  his  hand,  he  seemed  to 
the  mob  to  appear  like  one  who  would  suffer  severely. 
Therefore  they  roared  and  shrieked  at  him,  and  some 
waved  handkerchiefs  and  clapped  and  cried,  while  he 
regarded  them  almost  with  contempt.  Yet  there  was 
a  glance  in  his  eyes  as  if  he  could  not  comprehend 
why  all  these  people,  whom  he  saw  through  the  fall- 


298 


DENOUNCED. 


ing  flakes,  should  be  thus  fantastically  dressed  and 
should  also  be  masked. 

In  truth  it  was  a  weird  scene  in  the  Place  de  Greve 
that  morning,  with  the  condemned  men  approaching 
the  scaffold  through  the  snow,  and  with,  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  spectators,  these  women,  through 
the  holes  of  whose  masks  their  eyes  glittered,  and 
whose  grotesque  costumes  were  but  little  suited  either 
to  the  occasion  or  the  wintry  morning. 

Yet  still  there  was  the  other  doomed  one.  He, 
however,  approached  the  platform  very  differently 
from  the  manner  in  which  the  man  whose  portion  was 
the  wheel  came  forward.  He,  too,  had  by  his  side  a 
confessor  with  a  crucifix — after  each  there  walked  the 
executioners,  and  also  the  officials — and  it  seemed  as 
if  he  would  shelter  himself  behind  the  robes  of  the 
priest.  Yet  sometimes,  too,  he  smiled  and  gibbered 
at  the  crowd  as  though  it  was  composed  of  his  friends, 
and  only  when  he  saw  the  masked  faces  of  the  women 
and  all  the  quaint  garbs  of  the  onlookers  did  he  seem 
astonished. 

At  his  appearance  the  crowd  appeared  startled,  the 
shouts  died  down ;  instead  of  them  a  whisper  ran 
through  their  ranks.  "  He  is  mad!  11  est  fou!"  they 
cried,  and  again  some  women  fainted. 

"  Great  God  !  "  muttered  Sir  Charles  Ames  hoarsely, 
catching  sight  of  him.  Then,  suddenly,  he  said : 
"  Kate — Lady  Fordingbridge — do  not  look  out ;  for 
pity's  sake  do  not !  "  And  to  his  wife  he  made  signs 
that  she  should  prevent  her  friend  from  glancing  at 
the  scaffold. 

But  he  was  too  late!  Already  she  had  done  so; 
already  she,  peering  from  the  window  of  the  coach, 
her  own  face  masked,  had  seen  the  face  of  the  trem- 


KATE    LEARNS   SHE   IS   FREE.  299 

bling,  grinning  wretch  ;  and,  since  gradually  the  coach- 
man had  edged  the  carriage  through  the  crowd  until 
it  was  not  now  ten  paces  from  the  platform,  he,  too, 
saw  her — the  woman  with  her  face  disguised— glaring 
at  him. 

She  herself  was  nearly  fainting  at  this  time,  yet 
she  could  see  the  headsman  grasp  his  axe  and  motion 
to  the  victim  to  kneel  down  and  place  his  head  upon 
the  block,  and  in  her  agony  she  raised  her  hand  to  her 
brow.  In  doing  so  it  struck  and  loosened  the  mask, 
so  that  it  fell  off,  leaving  her  face  exposed. 

And  then  the  crowd's  enjoyment  culminated  ! 

For  he  saw  the  mask  fall  away  from  her — he  saw 
her  face. 

And  with  a  wild  scream — a  scream  that  penetrated 
to  the  hearts  of  all  in  the  Place  de  Greve — he  shrieked : 

"  Kate  !  Kate  !  1  have  seen  him  !  He  forgives ! 
He  is  a  prisoner  in —  •"  and  fell  back,  dying,  into  the 
executioner's  arms. 

The  frenzied  brain  had  failed  at  last. 


20 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

AFAR    OFF    STILL. 

KATE  had  been,  as  already  stated,  far  from  well  of 
late ;  the  horrible  revelation  of  that  snowy  morning 
brought  her  near  to  death's  door;  and,  after  she  had 
been  taken  back  to  the  Prince's  house  in  a  prostrate 
condition  and  put  at  once  to  bed,  her  life  was  for  some 
weeks  despaired  of. 

Meanwhile  she  was  carefully  ministered  to  by  all 
the  Scotch  ladies  who  formed  a  part  of  the  establish- 
ment, and  also  by  Lady  Ames,  who  refused  under  any 
circumstances  to  quit  Paris;  though,  indeed,  her  indul- 
gent husband  did  not  press  her  to  do  so. 

"  The  King,"  she  said,  "  may  call  me  a  Jacobite, 
may  even  prosecute  me  for  one  when  I  return  to  Lon- 
don, yet  I  shall  not  leave  Lady  Fordingbridge  now — 
no,  not  even  if  I  have  to  become  an  inmate  of  Charles 
Edward's  house.  Oh,  the  horror  of  seeing  one's  hus- 
band brought  out  to  such  a  doom,  villain  though  he 
was  ;  the  horror  of  it !  How  shall  she  ever  recover 
from  such  a  catastrophe  ? " 

"How,  indeed?"  replied  Sir  Charles,  who,  world- 
ling though  he  was,  had  been  as  terribly  shocked  as 
she  at  the  end  of  Fordingbridge's  career.  "  Yet  it 
might  have  been  worse.  It  was  a  merciful  providence 
that  saw  fit  to  end  his  life  at  the  moment  it  did. 
Think,  only  think,  if,  added  to  all  else,  she  had  seen 

300 


•   AFAR   OFF   STILL.  3OI 

his  head  fall,  as  she  would  have  done  had  he  not  died 
at  the  instant !  " 

Lady  Ames  nodded  her  head  reflectively  as  she 
agreed  with  him ;  then  a  few  moments  later  she  said, 
speaking  from  the  deep  fauteuil  in  which  she  was  sit- 
ting in  their  lodgings,  which  they  had  now  taken  on 
the  Quai  des  Theatins  so  as  to  be  near  her : 

"  You  heard  his  last  words  ?— <  I  have  seen  him. 
He  forgives.  He  is  a  prisoner  in '  and  then  died  be- 
fore he  could  conclude.  What,  Charles,  do  you  think 
they  pointed  to  ?'•' 

Sir  Charles  shrugged  his  shoulders;  then  he  asked 
significantly,  "What  does  she  think  they  pointed  to?" 
"Alas!"  his  wife  replied,  "she  does  not  refer  to 
them ;  seems  scarcely  to  have  heard  them  uttered,  or, 
if  she  did,  not  to  have  understood  them.  Remember, 
she  is  but  a  woman,  and,  although  it  is  impossible  she 
should  regret  his  death,  the  horror,  the  shame  of  it, 
has  broken  her  down  completely.  She  longed — any 
woman  would  long — to  be  free  of  a  man  who  had 
deceived  her  from  the  first  as  he  had  done,  yet  no 
woman  could  desire  her  freedom  should  come  in  such 
an  awful  form.  They  say,"  she  continued,  sinking  her 
voice  to  an  awestruck  whisper,  "  that  he  died  of  fright 
upon  that  scaffold." 

"  Possibly,"  replied  Sir  Charles,  "  possibly.  He 
was  a  cowardly  fellow,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  when 
Sholto  and  I  had  that  interview  with  him  in  your  morn- 
ing-room. I  should  not  be  surprised  ;  other  men  have 
died  on  the  scaffold,  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows,  before 
now.  Why  not  he  ?  But,"  he  said,  changing  the  sub- 
ject, "  since  we  can  do  nothing,  we  must  be  what  as- 
sistance we  can  to  her.  Now,  I  propose  to  set  about 
discovering  what  he  was  led  out  to  execution  for; 


302 


DENOUNCED. 


what  his  crime  was.  It  must  have  been  something 
horribly  grave  to  lead  to  a  man  of  his  position  being 
executed  in  France  ;  for,  although  no  treaty  of  peace 
has  as  yet  been  signed  between  them  and  us,  we  are 
no  longer  at  open  strife.  And  if,"  he  added,  "  France 
would  but  send  this  Stuart  packing,  and  harbour  him 
no  longer,  a  lasting  peace  might  be  secured."* 

"  What  could  it  have  been,  think  you  ?  "  his  wife 
asked.  "  Something  terrible,  to  lead  to  such  a  con- 
clusion." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "yes.     Something  terrible." 

Then  he  devoted  himself  to  the  task  of- discovering 
what  that  something  terrible  could  have  been. 

Meanwhile,  Kate,  after  being  utterly  broken  down 
and  lying  between  life  and  death  for  something  short 
of  a  month,  began  to  mend  at  last,  her  naturally  fine 
though  delicate  constitution  enabling  her  to  triumph 
over  the  blow  she  had  received.  Then  she,  too,  told 
Lady  Ames  that  she  must  discover  for  her  own  future 
ease,  if  not  peace  of  mind,  the  reason  why  her  wretched 
husband,  after  having  disappeared  for  so  many  months, 
had  met  his  end  in  such  a  way.  Also  she  undeceived 
her  friend  in  the  belief  that  she  had  not  heard  that 
wretched  husband's  last  words. 

"For,"  she  said,  "I  heard  them  all,  clearly  and 
distinctly.  Heard  them  !  I  hear  them  now — at  night ; 
all  day ;  as  I  lie  here.  '  I  have  seen  him.  He  forgives. 

He  is  a  prisoner  in .'  And,"  she  continued,  laying 

a  white,  wan  hand  on  that  of  the  other  who  sat  by 
her  bedside,  "  I  know  well  enough  to  whom  he  referred. 
It  was  to  Bertie,  to  Mr.  Elphinston." 

"  Great   heavens !  "    exclaimed    Lady   Ames,  who, 

*  As  happened  the  next  year,  by  the  Treaty  of  Aix-la-Chapelle. 


AFAR   OFF   STILL.  ^ 

in  the  excitement  of  all  that  had  happened  since  that 
terrible  morning,  had  absolutely  forgotten  that  this 
other  one  was  also  as  mysteriously  missing  as  Lord 
Fordingbridge  had  been — "great  heavens!  to  Mr. 
Elphinston.  Yes,  it  must  be.  Each  word  would  apply 
to  him.  O  Kate  !  what  does  it  all  mean  ?" 

"  God  knows  what  it  means;  what  it  points  to  none 
can  doubt — to  the  fact  that  in  the  prison  from  which 
they  brought  him  the  other  one  is  incarcerated; 
though  on  what  charge  I  cannot  dream.  Oh,  my  dear," 
she  exclaimed  to  her  friend,  "  beg  Sir  Charles  to  find 
out  that — those  two  things,  above  all :  the  prison,  and 
the  reason  why  he  is  detained.  Then,  when  that  is  dis- 
covered, we  may  do  something  to  obtain  his  release, 
since  I  am  known  to  so  many  who  have  influence." 

"Yes,"  Lady  Ames  acquiesced,  "yes;  Charles 
must  do  that.  Yet  there  are  many  prisons  in  Paris 
where  men  are  kept  unknown  to  the  outer  world — La 
Force,  Bicetre,  Vincennes,  the  Bastille.  And  what  can 
he  have  done  to  be  sent  to  any  one  of  them?" 

"  Heaven  alone  knows.  Yet,  in  France,  men  are 
sent  on  the  most  trivial  charges,  on  suspicion  alone, 
sometimes.  Oh,  I  beseech  you,  ask  your  husband  to 
discover  first  where  he  is,  and  then  we  may  learn  of 
what  he  is  accused,  and  do  our  best  to  free  him." 

Sir  Charles,  with  now  a  clue  as  to  whom  the  mis- 
erable man  had  referred,  prosecuted  his  researches 
with  great  ardour,  keeping  ever  two  points  before  him 
for  elucidation  :  the  first  being  the  reason  forwhich 
Fordingbridge  had  been  brought  to  execution,  and  the 
second  the  prison  from  which  he  had  been  conducted 
to  the  Hotel  deVille;  for,  when  he  had  discovered 
the  latter,  he  would  know  almost  of  a  surety  where 
Elphinston  was.  Yet  almost  as  well  might  he  have 


304 


DENOUNCED. 


demanded  information  of  the  stones  in  the  streets  and 
have  expected  to  receive  an  answer,  as  from  those 
whom,  with  infinite  trouble,  he  sought  out. 

Commencing  with  the  English  ambassador — who 
professed  himself  profoundly  ignorant  of  the  execu- 
tion of  Lord  Fordingbridge,  as  well  as  extremely 
shocked  that  such  an  outrage  should  have  been  com- 
mitted upon  a  nobleman  of  our  country,  no  matter 
what  his  fault  was — he  next  managed  to  procure  an 
interview  with  the  Mayor  of  Paris  and  with  the  Prefect 
of  Police,  the  former  a  more  important  functionary 
then  than  now.  Yet  all  was  useless  ;  he  got  no  further. 
After  many  visits  to  the  ambassador,  the  latter  told 
him  plainly  that  Lord  Fordingbridge's  death  would 
lead  to  very  little  discussion  between  the  two  countries ; 
moreover,  any  discussion  was  just  now  to  be  avoided. 
France  and  England  were  by  this  time  sick  of  warfare 
and  wanted  peace,  and  the  only  thing  that  stood  in 
the  way  of  that  peace  was  the  espousal  of  the  Stuart 
cause  by  France. 

"And,"  remarked  the  ambassador  quietly  to  Sir 
'  Charles,  in  a  private  interview  they  had  together,  "the 
peace  will  come,  and,  if  I  am  not  deceived,  the 
Stuarts  will  go.  The  Chevalier  de  St.  George  at  Rome 
knows  such  to  be  the  case;  so  does  the  Prince  here; 
only  they  do  not  run  away  from  the  storm.  Time 
enough  for  that  when  it  breaks;  anyhow,  it  won't  be 
particularly  hurtful — will  only,  indeed,  lead  to  a  resi- 
dence in  Paris  being  exchanged  for  the  capital  of 
some  other  country.  Yes,  everything  points  to  peace — 
has  begun,  indeed,  to  do  so  for  some  time  back.  Now," 
and  his  Excellency  leaned  forward  and  spoke  very 
gravely,  "  this  Fordingbridge  episode  must  not  disturb 
that  impending  peace." 


AFAR   OFF   STILL.  ^ 

"  No  one  wishes  that  it  should  do  so,"  Sir  Charles 
exclaimed;  "we  only  desire  a  little  information.  He 
had  a  wife,  and,  although  he  had  behaved  as  a  thorough 
scoundrel  to  her,  is  it  not  natural  that  she  should  wish 
to  know  what  his  crime  was,  and  what  prison  he  was 
confined  in  before  the  morning  when  he  was  taken  to 
what  was  intended  for  his  execution  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  natural,"  replied  the  ambassador,  with 
easy  grace,  "  perfectly  natural  on  her  part.  Only, 
how  is  the  information  to  be  obtained  ?  I  tell  you 
frankly  I  cannot  procure  it  for  you.  Lord  Fording- 
bridge  was,  in  London,  what  they  term  here  '  a  sus- 
pect';  he  was  under  Government  surveillance  there; 
known  to  be  a  late  Jacobite  avowing  Hanoverian  prin- 
ciples— yet  known  also,  of  late,  to  have  been  one  of 
the  prime  movers,  if  not  the  prime  mover,  in  the  at- 
tempted assassination  of  his  Majesty  before  the  in- 
vasion. Also  he  was  known — I  assure  you,"  the  am- 
bassador interjected  still  more  gravely,  as  he  bent  for- 
ward, "  everything  was  known  about  him — to  be  the 
friend  of  Charles  Edward's  followers,  yet  to  be,  also, 
their  denouncer.  He  disappeared  from  England,  no 
one  knew  why,  closed  up  his  house,  wrote  to  his  attor- 
ney to  say  he  should  probably  not  return  for  many 
years,  and  also  that  the  lady  who  had  passed  as  the 
viscountess  was  not  so  in  actual  fact." 

"  It  was  a  lie !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Charles.   , 

"Without  doubt,"  the  diplomatist  continued 
suavely.  "I  only  mention  all  these  things  to  show 
you  that  we  need  not  trouble  our  soon-to-be-beloved 
French  neighbours  about  the  Viscount  Fordingbridge, 
especially  as,  after  all,  it  was  a  higher  power  than 
they  who  slew  him.  Remember,  he  plotted  to  kill  the 
King ;  he  was  Hanoverian  or  Jacobite  as  it  suited  him ; 


306  DENOUNCED. 

in  fact,  Sir  Charles,  he  was  contemptible.  Let  us 
forget  him." 

"  Everyone  is  perfectly  willing  to  do  so,  I  assure 
your  Excellency,"  the  baronet  replied,  in  quite  as  easy 
a  manner  as  the  other  was  capable  of  assuming;  "he 
is  quite  done  with  on  all  sides.  Only  someone  else  has 
to  be  remembered  who  is  supposed  to  be  in  the  prison 
he  was  led  out  from — someone  whose  freedom  many  of 
us  desire  to  procure." 

"An  Englishman,  of  course?" 

"Yes.  Not  precisely  so,  though.  .A  Scotchman, 
and " 

"  A  Jacobite,  perhaps  ? "  the  ambassador  asked  with 
a  sweet  smile. 

"There  have  been  tendencies " 

"  Precisely.  Good-morning.  You  can  hardly 

I  protest,  Sir  Charles,-  you  can  hardly  expect  King 
George's  representative  to  interest  himself  in  that 
quarter.  G^^-morning." 

As  regards  the  mayor  and  the  prtfet,  he  arrived 
no  nearer.  The  former,  a  rabid  hater  of  all  things 
British,  told  him  that,  although  he  had  no  knowledge 
of  what  persons  might  be  in  the  variou's  prisons  of 
Paris,  he  was  quite  sure  that,  if  any  Englishmen  were 
incarcerated,  they  deserved  to  be.  The  prefet,  more 
politely  but  with  equal  firmness,  said  he  also  was  not 
aware  of  what  English  people  might  be  detained  in 
the  prisons,  but  that,  even  if  he  possessed  the  knowl- 
edge, he  should  not  consider  it  his  duty  to  give  any 
information  on  the  subject. 

Then  Kate,  by  this  time  recovered  somewhat  from 
the  shock  of  her  husband's  death,  and,  although  she 
knew  it  not,  rapidly  mending  in  health  through  the 
knowledge  of  the  freedom  that  was  now  hers  undoubt- 


AFAR   OFF   STILL.  —  - 

edly,  determined  that  she  would  lose  no  opportunity 
of  herself  discovering  where  Bertie  Elphinston  was  in- 
carcerated ;  for  that  Fordingbridge  had  spoken  the 
truth  in  his  last  moments,  half  mad  though  he  seemed, 
she  never  had  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

First  she  wrote,  as  was  natural,  to  Archibald 
Sholto,  telling  him  everything  exactly  as  it  occurred 
from  the  ending  of  the  ball  at  the  opera  house  to 
Fordingbridge's  last  words.  Also  she  asked  him  to 
discover,  if  possible,  for  what  crime  her  husband  had 
been  condemned  to  death.  Above  all,  she  begged  him 
to  find  out  from  what  prison  he  had  been  led  to  the  Ho- 
tel de  Villeon  the  morning  of  his  execution.  "Because," 
she  wrote,  "  in  that  prison  Bertie  Elphinston, your  friend, 
your  murdered  brother's  friend,  will  be  found." 

Her  letter  reached  Father  Sholto  at  St.  Omer,  to 
which  he  had  removed  from  Amiens,  and  for  some 
weeks  he  did  not  answer  it;  while,  when  he  did  so,  he 
simply  wrote  to  say  that  he  would  endeavour  to  find 
out  the  reason  why  Bertie  should  be  incarcerated  in 
the  prison  from  which  Fordingbridge  had  been  brought 
forth. 

•  "  "Tis  a  cold  answer  at  best,"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self one  evening,  as  he  paced  along  the  marshy 
swamps  around  St.  Omer,  unobservant  of  the  ripening 
fruit  in  the  rich  orchards  all  about,  and  even  of  the 
glorious  sunset  behind  him — "a  cold  answer,  yet 
what  else  to  make  ?  I  cannot  tell  her  that  it  must  be 
the  Bastille  in  which  Bertie  is  confined.  Merciful 
Father  in  heaven  !  "  he  broke  off,  "what  can  he  have 
done  to  be  there  ?  Because  it  was  to  the  Bastille  that 
I,  determined  never  to  loose  my  hold  on  Douglas's 
murderer,  procured  he  should  be  sent.  Also  I  dread 
to  tell  her  what  Fordingbridge's  crime  was,  who  the 


308 


DENOUNCED. 


avenger  of  that  crime  is.  I  dread  !  I  dread  !  It  is 
more  than  I  have  strength  to  dare." 

Still  pacing  the  marshes,  he  turned  over  and  over 
again  in  his  mind  all  that  he  had  pondered  on  for  so 
long,  with — now  added  to  all  that — the  fresh  knowl- 
edge derived  through  Kate  that  Elphinston  was  in  the 
Bastille. 

"  In  the  Bastille  !  the  Bastille  !  So  that  is  where  he 
disappeared  to  without  leaving  a  trace,  a  sign  behind 
him.  To  the  Bastille !  It  seems  incredible.  What 
could  he  have  done  ?  A  good  officer,  a  favourite  with 
all.  It  is  indeed  incredible." 

Still  musing,  he  approached  the  town,  to  be  aroused 
from  his  meditations,  in  spite  of  himself,  by  the  clash 
of  arms  from  the  guard  being  relieved  at  the  gates, 
and  by  the  blare  of  some  trumpets  from  the  walls. 
They  seemed  to  chide  him,  he  thought,  for  being  so 
inactive;  they  seemed  to  reproach  him  for  meditating 
so  much  and  for  doing  so  little. 

"  Only,"  he  murmured  as  he  almost  wrung  his 
hands,  "  what — what  shall  I  do  ?  He  is  in  the  Bastille, 
and,  though  I  could  send  that  other  one  to  the  same 
fortress,  I  have  no  power  to  obtain  this  one's  release. 
Who  can  help  me  ?  To  whom  shall  I  apply  ? " 

At  last,  tossing  on  his  bed  as  he  had  so  often 
wearily  tossed  before,  he  thought  of  Tencin.  The 
cardinal,  he  knew,  was  no  longer  in  the  greatest  fa- 
vour, and  had  been  sent  back  to  his  archbishopric  as 
a  punishment;  yet  he  could  not  be  the  Primate  of 
France  and  still  be  without  some  influence.  If  he 
could  do  nothing  else,  he  could  at  least  find  out  on 
what  charge  Elphinston,  an  officer  of  the  King's  army, 
had  thus  been  thrown  into  prison.  So  he  sat  down 
and  wrote  to  monseigneur. 


AFAR   OFF   STILL. 

Of  course  more  weeks  passed  thus — long  ones  to 
the  poor  prisoner  in  the  calotte,  and  almost  as  long  to 
the  woman  outside  who  loved  him  so,  and  to  the  man 
at  St.  Omer  who  was  doing  his  best  for  him  ;  then,  at 
last,  the  archbishop  wrote,  but  could  tell  nothing. 
He  was,  he  said,  astonished  that  such  a  thing  could 
be.  The  Scotch  officers  had  served  the  King  faith- 
fully without  exception  ;  it  was  incredible  that  one 
could  be  thus  incarcerated.  The  only  thing  his  Emi- 
nence could  suppose  was  that  Elphinston  must  have 
mortally  wounded  or  angered  someone  of  high  posi- 
tion at  court — someone  much  in  favour  with  the  King 
himself,  and  able  to  procure  a  lettre  de  cachet  from  him 
without  any  questions  whatever  being  asked.  He 
could  imagine  nothing  else  but  that.  Then,  having 
given  vent  to  his  surmise,  he  proceeded  to  suggest  to 
Sholto  the  very  best  steps  he  could  take. 

"Of  all  men,"  his  Eminence  wrote,  "there  is  none 
for  your  purpose  like  D'Argenson.  As  you  know,  all 
the  family  are  of  the  same  trade — lieutenants  of  police, 
Presidents  of  Parliament,  judges;  and  the  present 
one,  like  his  father  before  him,  is  not  only  one  of  his 
Majesty's  chief  judges,  but  also  the  chief  Examiner  of 
the  internes  of  the  Bastille.  The  family  is  high  in  the 
world  now,  but  some  generations  back  were  low — for- 
get not  that.  Yet,  neither  will  your  remembrance  of 
it  have  weight  with  D'Argenson.  He  has  a  heart  of 
marble  if  he  has  any  heart  at  all,  but  with  it  a  sense  of 
justice  that  it  is  impossible  to  excel.  If  Captain  El- 
phinston is  falsely  detained,  or  detained  in  error, 
D'Argenson  will  set  the  matter  right,  though  he  may 
take  months  to  do  it." 

"  Though  he  may  take  months  to  do  it."  Alas  !  it 
soon  seemed  to  Archibald  Sholto  that  he  was  more  like 


3io 


DENOUNCED. 


to  take  years.  He  had  got  into  communication  with 
this  important  personage  through  the  influence  of  the 
cardinal,  but  once  in  communication  had  advanced, 
or  seemed  to  advance,  no  further.  The  judge  wrote 
in  his  tablets,  it  is  true,  the  name  of  Elphinston,  and 
said  that  if  he  were  in  any  prison  in  France  he  would 
take  care  that  his  case  was  inquired  into  sooner  or 
later.  Beyond  that  he  refused  to  say  another  word. 

And  with  this  Sholto  had  to  be  content,  and  to  try 
and  persuade  himself  that  it  was  at  least  something 
toward  the  desired  end.  Also  he  wrote  to  Kate,  saying 
that  it  was  from  the  Bastille  that  Fordingbridge  had 
been  brought  to  execution,  and  that  therefore  doubt- 
less it  was  the  Bastille  in  which  Bertie  was.  And  he 
bade  her  be  of  good  heart  and  hope  for  the  best,  since 
one  of  the  principal  examiners  of  prisoners  detained  in 
the  prisons  had  projnised  that  his  case  should  be  in- 
quired into. 

"  Though  he  may  take  months  to  do  it !  "  the  car- 
dinal had  said.  Verily  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  indeed 
known  the  man  of  whom  he  wrote. 

For  the  months  passed  away  outside  the  Bastille  as 
they  were  passing  away  inside,  and  to  those  without 
there  came  no  news  of  him  within;  so  that,  at  last, 
Kate  was  led  almost  to  believe  that,  as  her  husband 
had  lied  to  her  from  the  very  beginning,  so  he  had  lied 
to  her  at  the  end.  For  it  seemed  to  her  that  if  Bertie 
had  ever  been  in  the  gloomy  fortress,  by  which  she 
now  so  often  walked  and  to  which  she  went  and  stood 
before  and  gazed  upon,  he  must  have  been  released 
ere  this,  or  in  some  way  have  found  an  opportunity  of 
communicating  with  her. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

"A    KIND    OF    CHANGE    CAME    IN    MY    FATE." 

IT  was  in  the  early  part  of  May,  1747,  that  Ford- 
ingbridge  had  been  led  out  to  his  doom,  and  month 
after  month  had  passed,  another  May  had  come  and 
gone,  and,  at  last,  another  December — the  December 
of  1748 — had  come  round.  Then  even  the  hopeless 
state  into  which  Bertie  had  been  so  long  plunged  was 
quickened  back  to  life  by  the  behaviour  of  two  people 
with  whom  he  held  some  intercourse. 

Although  Falmy  and  he  had  almost  ceased  now, 
from  very  weariness  during  the  passage  of  time — per- 
haps from  heartbrokenness — to  communicate  much, 
they  did  occasionally  do  so  when  either  considered 
that  he  had  anything  to  tell  the  other  that  might  cause 
him  some  faint  stir  of  interest ;  and  one  morning  the 
former,  appearing  at  his  window,  made  signs  to  Bertie 
that  he  was  about  to  signal.  Then  when  the  other 
nodded  to  show  that  he  was  attending  to  him,  the 
Genevese  traced  on  his  board  the  sentence,  "  Have  you 
heard  anything  unusual?"  To  this  Bertie,  with  a 
bound  of  his  heart — for,  in  spite  of  his  long  incarcer- 
ation and  his  growing  hopelessness,  he  still  had,  al- 
though he  knew  it  not,  a  ray  of  courage,  of  presenti- 
ment, left  in  him — shook  his  head,  and  by  eager  facial 
signs  asked  Falmy  to  explain  his  meaning.  But  he, 
whether  it  might  be  that  he  was  afraid  of  communi- 

311 


312 


DENOUNCED. 


eating  too  swiftly  anything  he  had  gathered,  only 
signalled  back,  "Say  nothing  to  De  Chevagny  as  yet. 
It  is  rumoured  that  they  have  remembered  him." 

"Remembered  him,"  thought  Bertie,  "at  last!" 
and  as  he  so  reflected  he  looked  round  upon  the  poor 
old  man  sitting  with  his  white  head  bent  over  his 
knees,  and  wondered  if,  should  this  be  true,  it  would 
be  for  his  good  to  go  forth." 

"  'Tis  now  forty-five  years,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  since  he  came  here.  A  lifetime !  Of  what  use  for 
him  to  regain  his  liberty  ?  He  said  Once  to  me,  when 
first  I  was  brought  to  this  room,  that  this  awful  place 
was  his  only  home.  Heaven  grant,  if  they  release  him, 
that  he  may  not  find  it  to  be  so !  " 

He  watched  Bluet's  manner  when  he  removed  the 
remains  of  their  next  meal — which  meals  had  gradu- 
ally, as  month  followed  month,  become  more  sparse 
and  meagre,  possibly  because  De  Launey  had  now 
come  to  suppose  that  neither  of  them  would  ever  be 
able  to  publish  to  anyone  outside  those  gloomy  walls 
the  story  of  his  neglect  and  parsimony,  to  call  it  by 
no  other  name — and  as  he  did  so  he  noticed  that  this 
good-natured  fellow  seemed  even  kinder  to  the  old 
man  than  ever. 

" Man  Dieu!"  he  began  now,  with  his  usual  ex- 
clamation, varied  only  occasionally  with  his  ma  foi— 
"  man  Dieu,  'tis  cold,  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  Yet,  I'll 
warrant  me,  there  are  blazing  fires  in  many  a  happy 
home  in  France.  Par  exemple,  now,  in  the  Chateau  de 
Chevagny  I  will  dare  to  say  they  keep  good  fires  for 
monsieur." 

The  old  man  looked  up  at  him  with  a  startled,  hurt 
look  ;  then  he  said  softly  : 

"Bluet,  you  have  always  been  good  and  kind  to 


"A   KIND   OF   CHANGE   CAME    IN    MY  FATE." 

me.  In  the  ten  years  you  have  been  here  I  have 
come  to  look  on  you  as  a  friend.  Yet,  when  you  re- 
call needlessly  to  me  my — my  long-vanished  home — 
that  I  shall  never  see  more — you  hurt,  you  wound 
me." 

"  Ah  !  avec  fa  !  "  said  Bluet,  "  I'll  wager  you  see 
that  home  again  yet.  Or,  perhaps — man  Dieu  !  why 
not  ? — the  Hotel  de  Chevagny  in  Paris  itself.  Monsieur 
le  Marquis  is  not  to  suppose  we  shall  entertain  him 
for  ever ;  no,  no  !  Neither  is  he  to  imagine  that  be- 
cause he  has  dwelt  with  us  so  long — it  is  a  little  long, 
I  concede — he  shall  never  leave  us." 

The  old  man  regarded  him  fixedly  for  a  moment, 
then  he  sighed  and  gave  a  true  French  shrug  to  his 
shoulders.  "  If,"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  gentle,  well- 
bred  voice,  the  aristocratic  tones  of  which  he  had 
never  lost — "  if  it  pleases  you  to  wound  me,  Bluet,  you 
must  do  so.  Yet  I  know  not  why.  We  have  always 
been  such  good  friends." 

"  Cease,"  said  Bertie  to  the  turnkey  in  a  whisper. 
"Why  play  with  an  old  man  thus?" 

"  It  is  no  play,"  Bluet  replied  in  the  same  whisper, 
only  that  his  was  a  husky,  vinous  one.  "He  is  re- 
membered. D'Argenson  comes  to-morrow  night.  He 
will  go  before  him.  It  may  be  that  on  the  next  day 
he  will  be  free.  Break  it  to  him  if  you  can." 

"You  are  certain  of  this?"  Bertie  asked,  intensely 
startled  and  interested  now.  "Certain?  I  thought 
you  told  me  long  ago  that  no  one  knew  who  the 
judges  would  call  before  them." 

"  Ordinairement,"  replied  Bluet,  while  he  glanced 
at  the  marquis,  who  was  again  warming  himself  at  the 
fire,  "no  one  does.  But  this  is  different.  The  min- 
ister sent  a  day  or  so  ago  asking  if  there  was  one  in- 


314        -  DENOUNCED. 

carcerated  here  of  his  name.  They  say  the  primate, 
Tencin,  stirred  him  to  it.  Then — then — voyez-vous — 
D'Argenson's  secretary  came  and — poof! — we  hear 
many  things,  we  jailors  !  D'Argenson  will  come  him- 
self to-morrow  night,  and,  mort  de  ma  vie  I  we  shall 
lose  the  prison  flower  !  Where — where  will  he  go  to  ? 
May  the  good  God  protect  him!  " 

The  name  of  Tencin  roused  many  bitter  reflections 
in  Bertie's  heart,  many  recollections  of  how  it  was  this 
cardinal  and  archbishop  who  had  been  the  main- 
spring, the  prime  mover,  in  the  Scots'  invasion  of — of 
— was  it  a  year  ago,  or  two  years  ago  ?  He  had  to 
pause  and  count  over  to  himself  the  time  ere  he  could 
recollect,  for  he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  power  now  of 
reckoning  the  period  that  he  had  been  in  the  Bastille. 
Then,  when  he  had  arrived  at  the  remembrance  that 
he  had  absolutely  been  here  for  two  winters  and  was 
in  the  third  December  of  his  detention,  his  mind  went 
back  to  the  name  of  Tencin  again.  Tencin,  he  re- 
peated— Tencin,  the  minister  who  brought  about  the 
invasion  of  England,  who  was  the  friend,  almost,  in- 
deed, the  patron,  of  his  own  master,  Charles  Edward. 
Yet  he,  a  devoted  follower  and  adherent  of  that  Prince, 
a  man  who  had  followed  him  until  the  last,  had  had  to 
suffer  so  cruel  an  imprisonment  as  this  which  he  had 
undergone !  Tencin  !  Would  he  allow  that  if  he  knew 
of  it  ?  Would  he  let  one  who  had  served  the  Prince 
so  well  be  incarcerated  there  ?  It  might  be  not,  if  he 
but  knew  that  such  was  the  case.  Only,  how  could 
the  fact  be  brought  to  the  powerful  cardinal's  knowl- 
edge ?  That  was  the  question. 

He  glanced  at  the  marquis,  who  was  still  sitting 
gazing  into  the  embers,  and  he  remembered  that  Bluet 
had  said  again,  before  he  left  the  calotte  with  the  re- 


"A   KIND   OF   CHANGE   CAME   IN    MY   FATE.' 


315 


mains  of  the  supper,  "  Break  it  to  him  if  you  can." 
Well,  he  would  try  and  break  it  to  him;  only,  he 
prayed  Heaven  that  in  the  breaking  he  might  not  kill 
the  old  man  with  the  shock.  And,  if  that  did  not  hap- 
pen, then — why,  then,  perhaps,  through  him  the  car- 
dinal might  be  apprised  of  how  a  faithful  adherent  of 
the  cause  he  had  championed  was  wrongfully  immured 
in  the  Bastille — immured,  neglected,  and  forgotten. 

"Monsieur  de  Chevagny,"  he  said,  drawing  up 
another  chair  by  the  side  of  the  old  man,  "  are  you 
fatigued  to-night  ?  You  seem  so — seem  more  weary 
than  usual.  You  are  not  ill  ?"  In  truth,  the  old  mar- 
quis had  been  presenting  signs  of  late  that  his  strength 
was  failing  rapidly,  and  that  he  was  fast  nearing  the 
only  escape  from  the  Bastille  that  had  for  forty-five 
years  seemed  likely  to  come  to  him  ;  and  to-night  he 
appeared  even  more  feeble,  as  well  as  more  absent- 
minded  and  lethargic,  than  ever ;  also  he  was  more 
dazed  than  was  his  wont.  But  he  replied : 

"  No,  no,  not  ill — or  only  so  from  having  lived  for 
seventy  years ;  and  also  from  having  passed  forty-five 
of  those  years  in  prison.  A  long  while  !  A  long  while  ! 
A  lifetime!  My  father's  whole  life  was  not  so  long." 

"  Yet,"  said  Bertie  soothingly,  "  it  may  still  be  pro- 
longed ;  it  may " 

"  Would  you  desire  for  me  that  it  should  be  pro- 
longed ? "  the  other  asked,  lifting  his  eyes  to  Bertie's. 
"  Is  that  to  be  wished,  think  you  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  younger  man  hesitated,  then  he 
said,  speaking  very  gently  : 

"Yes,  if— if  you  could  find  happiness  thereby. 
For  suppose — only  suppose — that  some  great  chance 
should  come  to  you  ;  some  undreamed  of,  unsuspected 
chance,  by  which  you  might  be  enabled  to  see  once 


316  DENOUNCED. 

more  the  wife  you  so  tenderly  loved,  the  little  child  you 
left  sleeping  on  her  bosom " 

"  Stop !  For  God's  sake,  stop ! "  De  Chevagny 
exclaimed.  "  You  torture  me ;  you  wring  my  heart 
worse,  far  worse,  than  ever  Bluet  did.  You  conjure 
up  hopes  that  my  senses  tell  me  can  never  be  realized  ; 
you  bring  before  me  thoughts  and  ideas  that  I  have 
been  trying  to  bury  and  put  away  for  many,  many 
years  now." 

And,  as  he  spoke,  Bertie  saw  his  old  eyes  fill  with 
tears ;  again  saw  those  tears  drop  from  his  eyelids  to 
his  snowy  beard. 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  my  fellow-prisoner,"  he  said, 
"  believe  me,  I  would  not  torture  you  unnecessarily. 
Think  you  that  I,  before  whom  this  living  tomb 
yawns  as  it  yawned  before  you  years  ago — that  I,  who, 
Great  Powers !  may  be  here,  in  this  very  room,  forty 
years  hence — would  say  one  word  to  distress  you  ? 
No,  no.  Never,  never !  But,  listen  to  me,  I  beseech 
you ;  and,  above  all,  listen  to  me  calmly.  I  have 
something  to  tell  you,  something  that  I  pray  earnestly 
may  make  you  very,  very  happy." 

As  he  spoke  he  dropped  on  one  knee  by  the  old 
man's  side,  while,  taking  one  of  his  hands  in  his,  he 
passed  his  arm  round  the  other's  waist,  and,  drawing 
him  to  him,  supported  his  now  trembling  form  as  a 
son  might  have  done.  And  as  he  did  so  he  felt  how 
worn  and  thin  his  poor  old  body  was. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  whispered  the  marquis.  "  What  is 
it  ?  You — you  frighten  me !  I — I  cannot  bear  a 
shock." 

"Pray,  pray,"  continued  Bertie,  "do  not  be  fright- 
ened nor  alarmed.  Indeed,  you  have  no  cause.  But, 
oh,  my  dear  and  honoured  friend  and  companion, 


"A   KIND   OF   CHANGE   CAME   IN   MY   FATE."  3,7 

there  has  come  strange  news  into  this  place,  strange 
news  for  you— nay,  start  not!  Strange  news!  It  is 
said— strive  to  be  calm,  I  beseech  you— that,  that— be 
brave !  as  you  have  been  so  long— your  release  is  at 
hand.  It  may  come  soon,  at  any  moment  now." 

He  felt  the  old  man's  feeble1  frame  quiver  in  his 
grasp ;  he  felt  him  draw  a  long  breath,  and  saw  him 
close  his  eyes.  Then  for  a  long  while  he  was  silent, 
sitting  enfolded  in  the  other's  arms  as  though  he  were 
asleep  or  dead.  But  at  last  he  spoke: 

"  If  it  should  be  so,  if  this  is  true,  what  will  become 
of  me  ?  Can  I  hope  to  find  my  wife  alive  ?  And  for 
my  little  child  that  was — she  is  almost  old  now,  if 
she  still  lives.  She  will  not  know  me;  will  not,  per- 
haps, believe  I  am  her  father." 

"  Oh,  how  can  she  doubt  it  ?  And  for  your  wife — 
she  need  not  be  dead ;  how  many  women  live  far  be- 
yond your  own  age — why,  my  mother  is  near  it. 
Look  hopefully  forward,  therefore,  I  beg  of  you,  to 
your  release ;  think  of  what  happiness  may  be  yours 
still." 

But,  although  Bertie  used  every  argument  to  prove 
to  De  Chevagny  that  there  must  be  still  some  period 
of  such  happiness  before  him,  however  short  that 
period  might  be,  he  could  not  bring  him  to  so  regard 
his  forthcoming  release.  Above  all,  he  could  not 
make  him  believe  for  one  instant  that  he  would  ever 
meet  his  wife  or  child  upon  earth ;  and  he  reiterated 
again  and  again  that,  if  he  could  not  have  them  with 
him,  he  would  almost  prefer  to  remain  a  prisoner. 

"  I  have  grown  used  to  the  filth  and  squalor  of  this 
place,"  he  said,  "to  my  wretched  rags.  My  hotel 
across  the  river,  even  if  it  has  not  been  long  since 
confiscated,  would  be  no  fit  abode  for  me.  Better  re- 


318  DENOUNCED. 

main  here  without  hope,  better  forget  that  I  was  ever 
a  free  man,  loving  others  and  beloved  myself,  than  go 
forth  into  the  world  where  I  am  unknown.  And,"  he 
said  tenderly,  "I  have  at  least  one  friend  here — I  have 
you." 

On  the  next  day,  however,  when  Bluet  had  told 
him  that  beyond  all  doubt  he  was  to  be  taken  before 
D'Argenson  that  night,  he  began  to  show  a  little  more 
interest  in  what  was  occurring,  and,  at  last,  to  look 
forward  eagerly  to  the  hour  when  the  Examiner  should 
arrive. 

"  For,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  have  a  piteous  tale  to  tell 
him ;  perhaps  when  he  hears  it  he  may  be  disposed 
to  look  into  the  cases  of  some  others  who  are  here. 
There  is  that  poor  man  Falmy,  over  the  way;  he,  too, 
should  be  released." 

At  six  o'clock  the  King's  Lieutenant  paid  a  visit  to 
the  calotte — De  Launey  had  never  been  known  to  visit 
a  "guest "  from  the  time  he  was  first  received  by  him 
— and  asked  the  marquis  whether  he  would  choose  to 
have  a  change  of  linen  and  some  fresher  clothes  in 
which  to  appear  before  the  judges;  but  this  offer  he 
firmly  refused. 

"  As  I  am,"  he  said,  "  as  I  have  been  for  so  many 
years,"  and  he  held  up  his  arm,  from  which  his  sleeve 
hung  in  a  hundred  tatters;  "so  I  will  go  before  him, 
and,  if  he  releases  me,  so  I  will  go  forth  into  the  world 
again." 

"That,"  said  the  King's  Lieutenant,  politely  and 
with  a  slight  smile,  "  Monsieur  le  Marquis  must  know 
will  not  be  permitted.  No  guest  leaves  us  who  does 
not  sign  a  paper  in  which  he  undertakes  most  solemnly 
to  divulge  nothing  of  what  has  occurred  within.  He 
would  scarcely,  therefore,  be  allowed  to  depart  in  such 


"A   KIND   OF   CHANGE   CAME   IN   MY  FATE." 

a  garb  as  that  in  which  Monsieur  le  Marquis  is  now 
unhappily  clad.  Besides,  the  illustrious  family  of  De 
Chevagny  is  rich ;  the  head  of  the  house  will  scarcely 
adorn  himself  with  such  raiment  when  he  goes  back  to 
his  proper  position." 

"  Rich  !  "  the  old  man  echoed  with  bitter  scorn 

"  rich  !  What  have  I  to  do  with  riches  now  ?  If  I  find 
not  my  wife  or  child,  I  shall  not  live  a  week  in  my  un- 
accustomed lot.  A  garret  such  as  this  will  do  well 
enough  for  me." 

The  Lieutenant  departed  after  this,  saying  that  the 
marquis — as  he  was  scrupulous  now  to  call  him  on 
every  occasion — might  expect  to  be  sent  for  early  in 
the  evening;  and  those  two,  who  had  grown  to  be 
such  friends,  sat  down  to  pass  what,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  night,  would  probably  be  their  last  hours 
together.  All  was  arranged  between  them  as  to  what 
was  to  be  done  on  Elphinston's  behalf  when  once  De 
Chevagny  was  free — he  was  first  to  seek  out  his 
mother  and  Kate,  being  careful  to  say  nothing  to  the 
latter  about  her  husband  and  his  end  until  he  discov- 
ered what  she  knew  about  him,  and  in  any  circum- 
stances to  be  very  discreet  in  what  he  revealed.  Then 
he  was  to  strive  in  every  way  to  bring  Elphinston's 
case  before  Tencin,  so  that  something  might  be  done 
as  soon  as  possible. 

'•  For,"  said  Bertie,  "  never  will  I  believe  that  when 
once  his  Eminence  knows  that  I  have  been  thrust  in 
here  under  what  must  be,  cannot  help  but  be,  a  false 
charge,  a  mistake,  he  will  allow  me  to  remain.  Oh, 
my  friend,  my  friend,  lose  no  time,  I  beseech  you,  in 
releasing  me  from  this  death  in  life  !  " 

"Have  no  fear,"  replied  De  Chevagny,  "I  shall 
remember.  First  your  mother,  Madame  Elphinston, 


320 


DENOUNCED. 


at  Passy ;  then  to  her  who  was  that  creature's  wife ; 
then — then  to  the  King  or  to — what  is  his  name  ? — 
Tencin  !  Tencin  !  I  shall  not  forget.  Yet,  oh,  my 
friend,  how  shall  I  leave  you  here — alone  !  And  you 
so  young — so  young!  Not  yet  in  your  prime." 

"Fear  not  for  me,"  replied  Elphinston,  assuming  a 
hopefulness  he  by  no  means  felt;  for  he  doubted  if, 
even  with  the  Marquis  de  Chevagny  at  liberty  and 
free  to  plead  his  cause,  his  release  was  likely  to  be 
obtained.  If  there  was,  indeed,  as  the  King's  Lieu- 
tenant had  hinted,  some  terrible  and  powerful  enemy 
in  the  background  whom  he  had  injured  without  know- 
ing it,  it  was  possible  that  even  Tencin's  exertions 
and  influence  might  be  of  no  avail.  Yet  still  he  sought 
to  cheer  the  other. 

"  Fear  not  for  me.  Once  you  are  free  to  bring  my 
case  before  the  King  I  have  no  fear  myself  " — then 
he  started,  for  he  heard  the  clanging  of  the  doors. 
"  Hark  !  "  he  said,  "  hark  !  They  are  coming  for  you. 
Oh,  I  pray  God  that  when  you  return  from  your  ex- 
amination you  may  do  so  with  your  liberty  assured — 
as  it  must  be !  As  it  must  be!  Otherwise  they  would 
not  send  for  you  at  all,"  and  he  kissed  the  old  man's 
hand  as  he  spoke,  and  whispered  to  him  to  be  calm. 

"God  bless  you!"  the  marquis  replied — "God 
bless  you  !  I  will  be  brave." 

As  he  did  so  the  door  was  unlocked,  and  once 
more  the  King's  Lieutenant  came  in,  accompanied  by 
four  turnkeys,  one  of  whom  was  Bluet,  who  behind 
the  officer's  back  kept  gesticulating  and  nodding  his 
head  and  winking  at  Bertie — who  stood  a  little  behind 
De  Chevagny — in  an  extraordinaiy  manner. 

"  The  fellow  had  indeed  a  good  heart,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  "  which  even  the  miseries  he  is  witness  of 


"A   KIND   OF  CHANGE   CAME   IN  MY  FATE."  321 

in  this  living  hell  are  unable  to  suppress.  One  would 
think  that  De  Chevagny  was  his  dearest  friend,  so 
overjoyed  is  he."  And  still,  as  he  reflected  thus, 
Bluet's  grimaces  and  becks  and  nods  continued. 

"  Rene  Xavier  Ru  de  Chevagny,  Marquis  de  Che- 
vagny," read  out  the  King's  Lieutenant  from  a  paper 
in  his  hand,  "  the  Viscomte  d'Argenson,  Judge  and 
Examiner  of  his  Majesty's  fortresses,  desires  your  pres- 
ence." 

"I — I  have  waited  the  summons  long,"  the  mar- 
quis said,  with  quiet  dignity ;  "  I  am  ready  to  obey  it." 

And  he  turned  round  to  touch  Bertie's  hand  in  a 
temporary  farewell,  when  again  the  voice  of  the  King's 
Lieutenant  was  heard  reading  from  the  paper: 

"  Elphinston — baptismal  name  uncertain — captain 
of  the  Regiment  of  Picardy,  formerly  of  the  Regiment 
of  Scots  Dutch " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Elphinston,  dazed  by  being 
summoned  at  last  so  unexpectedly,  and  also  at  the 
last  description — "  what !  " 

— "  the  Vicomte  d'Argenson,  Judge  and  Examiner 
of  his  Majesty's  fortresses,  desires  your  presence." 

"  I,  too,  am  ready,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice. 

"Avancez!"  said  the  Lieutenant,  and  at  the  word 
the  party  left  the  calotte  and  descended  the  massive 
stairs,  the  officer  with  two  turnkeys  leading  the  way, 
while  Bluet  and  another  followed. 

And  as  they  went  to  the  Hall  of  Judgment,  Bertie 
whispered  to  the  marquis : 

"  I  begin  to  understand.  I  know  now  why  I  have 
been  here  so  long.  It  was  another  Elphinston,  not  I, 
who  served  in  the  Scots  Dutch— the  Elphinston  who 
eloped  with  the  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Baufremont!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FREE. 

WHEN  the  stairs  had  been  descended,  at  the  foot 
of  which  were  several  soldiers  who,  as  ever,  removed 
their  hats  and  placed  them  before  their  faces  so  as  not 
to  observe  the  prisoners,  they  passed  through  a  little 
door  into  a  great  court  and,  traversing  this,  entered 
what  was  known  and  served  as  the  arsenal  or  armoury. 
There  Bertie  observed  a  number  of  gorgeously  dressed 
footmen  and  coachmen  seated  about,  whom  he  sup- 
posed to  belong  to  the  judges,  as  well  as  a  number 
of  exempts  and  several  messengers  of  the  Bastille, 
known  to  all  Paris  by  the  badge  they  wore — a  brass 
plate,  having  on  it  an  engraved  club  full  of  points  and 
spikes,  with  round  it  the  motto  " Monstrorum  Terror" 
— most  of  whom,  perhaps  from  long  habit,  regarded 
the  party  very  indifferently.  Leaving  this  place  be- 
hind, they  traversed  another  court,  and  then,  after  the 
King's  Lieutenant  had  struck  three  times  on  an  iron- 
studded  door,  they  were  admitted  to  a  large,  stately 
hall  well  warmed  and  lighted.  It  was  the  hall  known 
as  the  Salle  de  Justice. 

At  one  end  of  the  hall,  seated  in  great  padded  chairs 
let  into  niches,  were  four  judges  clad  in  scarlet  robes, 
with  huge  wigs  upon  their  heads,  while  one,  who  was 
undoubtedly  D'Argenson,  wore  above  his  wig  a  richly 
laced  three-cornered  hat,  as  a  symbol  that  he  repre- 

322 


FREE. 


323 


sented  the  sovereign.  At  his  feet  sat  his  registrar, 
or  secretary,  with  a  long  table  before  him  covered 
with  a  great  crimson  cloth  that  hung  down  to  the 
ground,  and  also  with  innumerable  papers,  while  at 
either  end  of  the  table  stood  sergeants-at-arms  with 
maces.  In  the  midst  of  the  court,  or  hall,  near  to 
these,  was  a  railed-in  space,  within  it  two  small  wooden 
stools,  and  to  these  the  sergeants  motioned  that  both 
De  Chevagny  and  Bertie  should  approach,  while,  as 
they  did  so,  the  registrar  handed  up  to  each  of  the 
judges  papers  which  were  copies  of  the  interrogato- 
ries about  to  be  administered.  At  another  table,  with 
some  papers  also  before  him,  sat  De  Launey,  shiver- 
ing and  shaking  and  smiling  in  exactly  the  same  way 
that  Bertie  had  seen  him  do  more  than  two  years  ago. 
Poor  wretch !  smiles  and  shivers  were  alike  to  be 
soon  over  for  him  now  ;  in  another  few  months  the 
worst  form  of  paralysis  was  to  end  his  life. 

As  De  Chevagny  and  Bertie  took  their  seats  upon 
the  stools  in  the  inclosure,  the  judges  half  rose  and 
bowed  to  them  (a  ceremony  always  observed,  except 
when  the  worst  class  of  detenus  were  brought  before 
them),  and,  on  their  salutation  being  returned,  D'Argen- 
son,  glancing  down  his  paper  of  interrogatories,  pre- 
pared to  address  De  Chevagny,  the  first  on  his  list. 
This  judge,  who  sat  as  president,  and  was  reported  to 
work  harder  than  any  other  twenty  men  in  the 
French  King's  service,  sitting,  indeed,  in  the  law 
courts  during  the  whole  of  each  day,  and  being  able, 
consequently,  to  only  make  his  examinations  of  the 
prisons  at  night,  was  a  strange  man  to  observe.  His 
complexion  was  as  swarthy  as  a  mulatto's,  his  eyes 
enormously  large  and  black,  his  eyebrows  each  as  big 
as  an  ordinary  man's  moustache,  while  his  reputation 


324 


DENOUNCED. 


for  austerity  had  spread  through  the  whole  kingdom. 
Yet  he  possessed  also,  in  contradistinction  to  his  ap- 
pearance, a  voice  as  soft  and  sweet  as  a  girl's,  or  De 
Launey's  own,  and  hands — one  of  which,  covered 
with  brilliants,  generally  lay  extended  on  the  desk  be- 
fore him — as  white  as  marble. 

"  Monsieur  the  Marquis  de  Chevagny,"  he  began 
now — while  as  he  did  so  the  old  man  rose  from  the 
stool  and  faced  him  as  he  leaned  upon  the  rail — "  Mon- 
sieur de  Chevagny,  you  have  been  a  resident  in  this 
fortress  for  a  long  period.  I  perceive  you  came 
here  on  the  3oth  of  January,  1704,"  and  the  silvery 
tones  ceased  for  a  moment  as  though  awaiting  an 
answer. 

"  It  is  true,"  De  Chevagny  replied,  "  true."  And 
he  bent  his  head. 

"  The  charge  against  you  was  the  writing  of  a  con- 
tumelious lampoon  upon  the  then  Marquise  de  la  Val- 
liere  and  holding  her  up  to  contempt  and  derision.  For 
that  the  lettre  de  cachet  concerning  you  was  signed  by 
— by  a  then  illustrious  personage.  That  letter  was  an 
open  one,  unlimited  as  to  the  continuance  of  its 
effect " 

"  The  charge  was  true,"  murmured  the  marquis, 
"  the  punishment  cruel  beyond  all  thought." 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  interposed  the  judge, 
while  his  voice  sounded  even  sweeter,  more  silvery 
than  before,  "  I  must  remind  you  of  what  doubtless 
in  the  passage  of  years  you  have  forgotten :  There 
must  be  no  criticism  here,  no  discussion  of  those  who 
are,  or  once  were,  all-powerful.  Monsieur,  I  repre- 
sent the  King's  Majesty ;  let  me  beg  of  you  to  offend — 
unintentionally,  no  doubt — no  more." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  it  seemed  as  if  some 


FREE.  225 

bird  had  ceased  to  warble  its  innocent  notes ;  then  he 
continued : 

"  The  family  of  La  Valliere  is  now  practically  ex- 
tinct. The  King,  in  his  sublime  goodness,  is  therefore 
pleased  to  ordain  that  you  shall  no  longer  be  asked  to 
remain  here.  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Chevagny,  per- 
mit me  to  congratulate  you.  You  may  depart  at  any 
time  most  convenient  to  you." 

The  old  man  raised  his  hand  to  his  long  white 
beard  and  stroked  it  thoughtfully  for  a  moment ;  then 
he,  in  his  clear  aristocratic  tones,  replied : 

"  You  congratulate  me,  monsieur,  on  what  ?  On  a 
wasted,  ruined  life,  perhaps ;  a  prison  for  forty-five 
years ;  an  existence  given  me  by  God  and  taken  away 
by  man  ;  a  home  desolated  ;  a  broken  heart— nay,  two, 
if  not  three,  broken  hearts ;  and  all  for  what  ?  A 
youthful  folly,  a  joke  made  in  the  exuberance  of  a 
young  man's  spirit.  Oh,  monsieur,  spare  me  your 
congratulations!  If  you  were  even  born  when  I  first 
came  here,  think,  think  of  the  passage  of  those  years, 
think  of  what  lives  you  have  known,  think  of  the  use 
they  have  been  put  to,  and  then  reflect  on  mine. 
Surely  your  congratulations  are  the  last  bitter  drop." 

"  Monsieur  de  Chevagny,"  replied  the  judge,  "  I 
must  not  argue  with  you.  Yet  one  word  I  will  say: 
I  had  no  part  in  sending  you  here ;  my  share  is  only  to 
tell  you  that  you  are  free."  And  he  took  up  in  his 
jewelled  hand  a  fresh  batch  of  papers,  and,  stooping 
forward,  whispered  something  to  the  registrar. 

As  the  old  man  tottered  back  to  the  stool  he  had 
risen  from,  that  functionary  said  : 

"  Elphinston,  captain  of  the  Regiment  of  Picardy, 
formerly  of  the  Regiment  of  Scots  Dutch,  answer  to 
your  name." 


326  DENOUNCED. 

"  My  name,"  said  Bertie,  advancing  to  the  rail  and 
standing  as  the  marquis  had  previously  stood,  "  is 
Elphinston,  and  I  am  of  the  Regiment  of  Picardy.  I 
never  served  in  the  Scots  Dutch  Regiment." 

With  an  almost  imperceptible  start  D'Argenson 
bent  his  dark,  luminous  eyes  on  him,  as  did  all  the 
other  judges,  who  had  sat  like  dead  men  in  their  seats, 
while  De  Launey,  with  the  King's  Lieutenant  and  the 
registrar,  also  cast  surprised  looks  on  him. 

"You  say  that  you  were  never  in  the  regiment  of 
Scots  Dutch,  monsieur?"  asked  D'Argenson,  still 
holding  the  papers  in  his  hand  and  glancing  at  them ; 
"  what,  then,  is  your  nom  de  bapteme?  " 

"Bertie." 

The  judge  glanced  again  at  the  papers,  then  he 
conferred  for  a  moment  with  the  other  judges,  and 
then  spoke  again : 

"  Pardon  us  our  ignorance  of  your  Scotch  name, 
monsieur;  but  this  name  'Bertie'  we  do  not  know  it. 
Albert  we  know,  but  not  Bertie.  Is  that  the  whole 
name,  or  a  part  of  one — an  abbreviation  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Bertie,  tout  court." 

The  white  hand  of  the  judge  rubbed  his  chin  softly, 
and  he  said : 

"  You  were  never  in  the  Scots  Dutch  Regiment  ? 
And,  par  exemple,  you  will  perhaps  also  tell  us  if  you 
are  the  husband  of  Mademoiselle  de  Baufremont, 
daughter  of  the  duke  of  that  name." 

"  I  am  not.     I  am  the  husband  of  no  woman." 

A  visible  stir  went  through  the  others  in  the  Salle 
de  Justice  at  these  words,  while  D'Argenson  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  Then,  sweetly  as  ever,  he  continued: 

"  There  are  many  noble  Scotch  gentlemen  serving 
his  Majesty.  Would  it  be  known  to  you  if  there  were 


any  others  of  your  name— your  family  name — in  the 
army  ? " 

"  I  know  of  one  other,"  Bertie  replied.  "He  was 
in  the  Scots  Dutch." 

"  Ha !  "  exclaimed  D'Argenson.  "  And  his  first 
name,  what  is  that  ? " 

"Basil." 

D'Argenson  threw  down  his  papers  and  for  several 
minutes  conferred  again  with  the  other  judges;  and 
during  the  time  he  did  so  Bertie  could  not  but  muse 
on  how  the  Bastille  and  its  accursed  uses  had  been  lent 
to  one  more  crime,  one  more  mistake  that  was  in  itself 
a  crime.  For  that  he  had  suffered  for  the  man  who 
was  his  namesake  there  could  now  be  no  doubt;  the 
only  wonder  in  his  mind  was  that  it  had  never  occurred 
to  him  before,  never  dawned  upon  him  That  such  was 
the  case.  And  now  he  only  prayed  that  the  judges 
might  never  have  it  come  to  their  knowledge  that, 
innocently  enough,  he  had  rendered  assistance  to  that 
other  Elphinston. 

"God  knows,"  he  mused,  "that  I  have  suffered 
sufficiently  already  by  doing  so ;  'twas  through  that 
assistance  that  I  lost  my  love ;  surely  I  shall  not  also 
have  to  suffer  further;  surely  the  Duke  de  Baufre- 
mont's  vengeance  will  not  be  permitted  to  still  fall 
heavily  on  me."  And  once  more  he  prayed  that  his 
share  in  the  transaction  might  not  be  known. 

Then  D'Argenson  spoke  again  : 

"  Monsieur  le  Capitaine"  he  said,  <;  your  answers  to 
my  interrogatories  appear  to  show  that,  by  grave 
misfortune,  you  have  been  confused  with  another 
man.  Such  errors  are  always  to  be  regretted;  nay, 
more,  when  they  have  been  made,  it  is  always  the  cus- 
tom of  his  Majesty— a  most  gracious  sovereign !— to 


328  DENOUNCED. 

make  atonement  for  them  and  to  nobly  recompense 
those  who  have  been  injured.  I  shall  to-morrow  take 
steps  to  ratify  your  statement :  if  I  find  it  accurate, 
you  may  expect  to  go  away  from  here  in  a  very  short 
time.  His  Majesty  will  sign  your  acquittance  at  once. 
You  will  be  free." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Bertie,  "  I  might  have  been  free  two 
years  and  a  half  ago,  might  never  have  suffered  this 
long  misery — while  much  other  misery  might  have  also 
been  spared  to  those  whom  I  love  and  who  love  me 
— had  this  examination  taken  place  when  I  was  first 
brought  here." 

"  Doubtless,"  D'Argenson  replied  coldly.  "  But 
the  laws  of  France  have  their  mode  of  procedure  and 
cannot  be  altered  for  any  case  in  particular.  Monsieur 
le  Capitaine,  ytmr  examination  is  concluded,"  and  turn- 
ing to  his  brother  judges,  he  said,  as  he  rose: 

"  Mes  freres,  la  seance  est  terminee." 

Of  what  use  was  it,  Bertie  asked  himself  as  he  and 
De  Chevagny  were  conducted  back  to  the  calotte,  to 
rage  or  fret  against  this  legal  wall  of  adamant  ?  As 
well  hurl  one's  self  against  a  rock  and  hope  to  make 
an  impression  on  it.  For  a  fault  not  his  own,  he  had 
been  forced  to  endure  two  years  and  more  of  miser- 
able imprisonment,  and  now,  by  chance  alone,  he  was 
likely  to  be  set  free. 

Yet  the  very  word  "free  "  sent  his  blood  dancing 
and  tingling  in  his  veins  once  more ;  it  brought  to  him 
the  happy  hope  of  seeing  his  mother,  his  beloved  Kate 
again.  And  when  he  saw  her,  there  would  be  no  fur- 
ther barrier  between  them ;  she,  too,  was  free — free  to 
become  his  wife.  Then,  at  last,  their  long  vexations 
would  be  over — at  last — at  last ! 

"  Make  yourselves  as  comfortable  as  you  can,  mes 


329 

en/ants"  said  Bluet  to  them  when  once  more  they 
were  back  in  the  calotte,  "  it  will  not  be  for  long  now. 
Meanwhile,  to-morrow,  I  will  see  if  I  cannot  snatch 
from  that  villainous  cellarer  a  bottle  of  the  best  vin  de 
Brecquiny  wherewith  to  celebrate  your  sortie.  And  I 
— though  I  am  but  a  poor  drinker  at  best — will  drink 
to  your  happy  restoration  to  your  friends  and  fami- 
lies." 

As  the  turnkey  had  said,  so  it  happened.  From 
the  next  morning  their  meals  were  improved ;  the  best 
wine  was  served  to  them ;  everything  gave  promise 
that  their  imprisonment  was  at  an  end.  One  morning 
— which  was  the  third  day  from  their  examination  by 
D'Argenson — Bluet,  accompanied  by  another  turnkey, 
came  in,  bearing  a  large  basket,  in  which  was  a  quan- 
tity of  new  linen,  with  some  ruffles  and  lace  for  both 
of  them.  Then,  next,  the  tailor  was  brought  in  to 
prepare  a  plain  but  serviceable  suit  for  the  marquis, 
and  also  to  repair  Bertie's  clothes,  his  suit  being, 
though  much  used,  still  wearable.  And,  to  complete 
all,  Bluet  arrived  on  another  morning  with  the  neces- 
sary implements  for  cutting  and  trimming  their  hair 
and  beards,  which,  with  the  exception  of  the  atten- 
tions they  had  been  able  to  render  each  other  with  a 
rusty  pair  of  scissors  they  had  discovered  imbedded 
in  the  filth  of  the  floor,  had  not  been  done  at  all  since 
the  younger  prisoner  had  been  there. 

"Avec fa!"  exclaimed  their  cheerful  janitor,  "mes- 
sieurs will  go  forth  into  the  world  again  as  though  to 
a  fete  or  a  wedding.  Ma  foil  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
you  look  not  fifty  years  of  age.  You  will  both  do 
very  well.  Ah,  but  the  brave  day  is  at  hand ! " 

And  at  last  it  came.  One  evening,  a  week  now 
after  the  judge  had  pronounced  that  the  Marquis  de 


330 


DENOUNCED. 


Chevagny  might  go  back  to  life,  and  had  said  that  the 
Captain  Elphinston  might  cherish  hopes  of  doing  so, 
the  King's  Lieutenant  again  made  his  appearance  in 
the  calotte,  unaccompanied  this  time  by  anyone  but 
Bluet,  for  the  purpose  of  unbarring  the  doors. 

"  Messieurs,"  he  said,  "  have  the  goodness  to  ac- 
company me  to  the  Salle  de  Justice.  The  commissary 
attends  you  to  hand  to  you  your  permission  de  sortie. 
You  will  depart  to-morrow,  if  it  so  pleases  you." 

Rising,  they  followed  him  through  all  the  pas- 
sages and  courts  as  before,  and  arrived  at  the  great 
hall.  Here  they  observed  that  the  judges  were  not 
again  present,  but  in  their  place,  and  seated  at  the 
scarlet-draped  table  of  the  judges'  registrar  was  the 
commissary,  a  little,  old,  wizened  man,  who  bowed  to 
them  as  they  entered. 

"  Be  seated,  I  beg,"  he  said,  motioning  them  to 
two  chairs  placed  in  front  of  him — two  fauteuils  very 
different  in  appearance  and  comfort  from  the  stools 
that  had  previously  been  accorded  them ;  and  when 
they  had  done  so,  he  instantly  read  from  two  papers 
before  him : 

4<  Rene  Xavier  Ru  de  Chevagny,  Marquis  de 
Chevagny,"  he  began ;  "  his  Majesty,  King  Louis 
XV,  graciously  accords  you  this  his  permission  to 
depart  out  of  this  fortress,  the  Bastille,  from  this 
present  moment.  This  permission  I  now  hand  to  you 
as  a  certificate  of  his  Majesty's  gracious  goodness." 
Here  he  held  the  paper  out  over  the  table  to  the  old 
man,  who  took  it  from  him  without  uttering  one  word. 
Then  the  commissary  continued:  "And  in  considera- 
tion of  your  having  been  unable  to  attend  to  your 
own  interests,  properties,  and  estates  of  late,  his 
Majesty  ordains  that  you  may  draw  upon  the  captain 


331 

of  this  his  fortress,  Monsieur  Jourdan  de  Launey,  for 
a  sum  not  exceeding  fifty  Louis  d'ors,  for  your  present 
expenses,  to  be  by  you  recouped  later  on." 

"I— I  want  nothing,"  De  Chevagny  began,  when, 
as  he  did  so,  his  eye  fell  upon  Bluet  standing  near 
and  behind  the  King's  Lieutenant,  and  remembering 
all  the  fellow's  kindness  to  him — kindness  which  he 

had  never   been   under  any  obligation  to   show he 

ceased  what  he  was  saying;  while  the  commissary 
continued  : 

"  From  this  moment  you  are  at  liberty  to  depart. 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  you  will  consult  your  own  pleas- 
ure as  to  when  you  do  so." 

Then  turning  to  Bertie  and  addressing  him,  he 
again  read  out  the  rigmarole  about  "his  Majesty's 
gracious  goodness,"  and  handed  to  him  his  certificate 
of  freedom.  And  also  he  informed  him  that  he,  too, 
could  draw  on  De  Launey  for  fifty  Louis  d'ors,  to  be 
recorded  later  on. 

"  If,  monsieur,"  Bertie  exclaimed,  however,  at  this, 
"  I  draw  them,  I  know  not  how  they  are  ever  to  be  re- 
funded. I  was  an  officer  in  the  French  King's  army 
when  I  was  brought  here.  I  can  scarcely  suppose  I 
am  one  now.  When  I  quit  this  prison  I  am  as  like  as 
not  to  be  a  beggar  in  the  streets.  This  incarceration 
has  stolen  my  life  from  me  for  two  years ;  now  I  am 
free,  its  effect  will  be  to  deprive  me  of  the  means 
whereby  to  live  in  the  future." 

11  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  I  think  not.  I  am  author- 
ized to  tell  you  that  a  commission  in  his  Majesty's 
service  will  still  be  provided  for  you,  in  consequence 
of  your  residence  here  being  due  to  a  slight  mis- 
take." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Bertie  ;  "  I  rejoice  to  hear  that  so 


22 


332 


DENOUNCED. 


much  justice  will  be  done  to  me."  Yet,  as  he  spoke, 
he  took  a  vow  that  never  more  would  he  serve  the 
French  King,  never  more  draw  sword  for  a  country  in 
which  such  errors  could  happen  as  that  which  had  im- 
prisoned him  for  those  two  years. 

"  Now,"  said  the  commissary,  "  you  must  please 
to  sign  these  papers,  and  to  swear  upon  your  honours 
that  you  will  neither  reveal,  when  outside  this  fortress, 
any  of  the  situations  of  the  various  chambers,  apart- 
ments, towers,  halls,  or  courts  of  which  you  have  ob- 
tained any  knowledge,  nor  the  names  of  any  other 
persons  here  with  which  you  have  become  acquainted 
in  any  way.  Also  you  must,  upon  your  honours,  state 
that  yooi  carry  no  messages  from  anyone  within  this 
fortress  to  anyone  whatsoever  outside  of  it,  either 
written  or  verbal.  And  when  you  do  go  forth  at  the 
time  it  shall  please  you,  you  will  also  sign  another 
paper  stating  that  you  have  been  deprived  of  nothing, 
neither  money,  clothes,  jewellery,  nor  trinkets  of  which 
you  were  in  possession  when  you  arrived." 

De  Chevagny  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  an- 
swered : 

"  I  may  sign  with  safety.  I  have  no  recollection 
of  anything  I  had  about  me  when  I  came  here  in  the 
year  1704.  I  know  not  what  I  had.  And  what  matters 
it  ?  What  matters  it  ?  " 

"As  forme,"  said  Elphinston,  "I  had  but  a  few 
gold  pieces  in  my  purse  when  I  came  here,  and  they 
have  been  exhausted  long  ago  in  payment  for  my  bed. 
There  can  be  nothing  left;  and  if  there  is,  I  want  it 
not." 

That  night,  however,  both  he  and  De  Chevagny 
decided  to  draw  each  upon  De  Launey  for  ten  Louis 

s,  with  which  to  reward  the  faithful  Bluet,  and  also 


333 

—for  such  was  the  custom  even  in  this  hateful  place- 
to  give  a  treat  to  the  turnkeys.  So,  ere  they  slept  for 
the  last  time  in  their  miserable  chamber,  these  men 
were  called  in,  and,  bringing  with  them  various  sorts 
of  wine,  chocolate,  pasties,  and  ratafias,  were  rewarded 
also  with  pieces  of  money,  while  they  drank  to  the 
health  of  those  whom  they  termed  the  "parting 
guests." 

One  other  had,  however,  to  be  taken  a  sad  farewell 
of— one  whom  there  was  no  likelihood  of  their  ever 
meeting  again  in  this  world— the  unhappy  Genevese, 
Falmy.  At  daybreak  Bertie  was  at  the  window  look' 
ing  for  him,  and  a  few  moments  later  he  appeared  at 
his;  and  the  tears  streamed  down  the  former's  eyes 
so  as  almost  to  blind  him  as  for  the  last  time  he  sent 
his  message  across  to  the  opposite  tower.  "  Farewell ! 
I  leave  with  De  Chevagny,"  he  signalled.  "  God  ever 
bless  you,  and  may  He  at  last  release  you  !  Is  there 
no  message  for  anyone  outside?"  For,  in  spite  of 
the  promise  he  had  given  to  take  none  from  any 
prisoner,  he  felt  absolved  from  it  when  he  thought  of 
the  bitter  agony  of  those  incarcerated  still.  Indeed, 
such  was  the  feeling  of  all  who  went  forth  from  that 
living  death. 

But  Falmy  shook  his  head  sadly;  then,  listlessly,  as 
though  hopeless  and  heartbroken,  he  signalled  back, 
"  None ;  I  have  no  friends.  If  I  ever  had  any,  they  are 
dead  or  have  forgotten  me.  Farewell !  "  and,  with  a 
look  upon  his  face  that  Bertie  never  forgot,  he  left  the 
window. 

Down  through  the  corridors  and  passages  they 
passed,  away  through  the  corps  de  garde,  with,  for  the 
last  time,  their  laced  hats  held  before  their  faces,  until 
they  reached  the  wicket  and  so  to  the  great  gates 


334 


DENOUNCED. 


which  opened  to  admit  their  exit.  And  a  moment 
later,  as  the  great  clock  struck  nine  above  their 
heads,  they  stood  outside  the  prison  walls.*  They 
were  free  ! 

*  The  Bastille. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

THE    MARQUIS    GOES    HOME. 

THE  turnkey  had  provided  a  fiacre  for  them,  and 
into  this  they  stepped  from  the  outside  of  the  great 
gate,  while  Bluet ;  looking  as  sad  as  though  he  were 
parting  for  ever  from  his  dearest  friends,  asked  where 
the  man  should  be  instructed  to  drive  them  to  ? 
Strange  to  say,  neither  had  given  any  thought  to  this 
matter,  though,  had  Bertie  been  alone,  no  considera- 
tion would  have  been  necessary  on  the  subject.  His 
mother's  house  would  have  been  his  destination ;  for, 
although  often  and  often  in  his  misery  he  had  mused 
on  whether  she  was  still  alive,  and  on  whether  she 
would  ever  fold  him  in  her  arms  again,  nothing  would 
have  kept  him  from  going  straight  to  Passy  and  at 
once  resolving  his  doubts. 

But  now,  with  De  Chevagny  by  his  side — a  poor 
old  man  cast  back  into  an  unknown  world  after  nearly 
half  a  century's  exclusion  from  it — he  could  not  leave 
him;  he  must  be  his  first  consideration. 

"  Dear  friend,"  he  said,  while  still  Bluet  stood  by 
the  coach  door,  "  have  you  thought  of  where  we  shall 
proceed  to?  Will  you  go  to  your  own  home  first, or 
come  to  mine— if— if— God !  if  I  have  any  left  there. 
At  least  we  will  not  part — or  not  now,  not  now." 

The  poor,  old  marquis  wrapped  the  dark  blue  cloak 
they  had  provided  him  with  around  him  as  the  other 

335 


336  DENOUNCED. 

spoke,  for  the  December  morning,  although  bright 
and  sunny,  was  cold  and  crisp,  then  he  said,  "  Home ! 
to  my  home?  What  home  have  I  ?" 

"Man  Dieu!"  exclaimed  Bluet,  consoling  to  the 
last,  "sans  doute,  a  beautiful  home.  Monsieur  must 
well  remember — even  I,  a  prison  watch-dog,  have 
heard  of  it — the  Hotel  de  Chevagny.  Monsieur  will 
doubtless  go  there.  And,  parbleu !  when  I  have  a 
day's  release  from  my  labours,  I  shall  make  a  little 
visit  to  the  marquis.  He  will  be  glad  to  see  his  old 
friend  and  servant,  Bluet  N ' est  ce  fas  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  marquis  whispered,  dazed,  as  it  seemed 
to  the  others,  by  his  freedom — "  yes,  I  shall  always  be 
glad  to  see  you,  Bluet.  Let  us  go — let  us  go,"  and 
he  held  out  his  hand  to  the  turnkey,  as  did  Bertie. 

"  Hotel  de  Chevagny,"  said  Bluet  to  the  driver ; 
"you  know  it  without  doubt.  Away  with  you  to  the 
house  of  the  noble  marquis  !  " 

"  De  Chevagny  !  "  said  the  man  from  his  box — "  De 
Chevagny  !  No,  I  know  it  not.  What  is  the  quarter  ? " 

"St.  Germain,  naturally.  Monsieur,"  looking  in 
again  at  the  window,  "  the  name  of  the  street — of 
the  street,  monsieur?"  he  repeated,  seeing  that  the 
marquis  appeared  to  scarcely  understand  him.  But  a 
moment  later  he  muttered  : 

"The  Rue  Charles  Martel.     That  is  it." 

"Bon!"  said  the  coachman,  he  having  caught  the 
words — "ban!  Rue  Charles  Martel,"  and  as  once  more 
Bluet  exchanged  farewells  with  them,  he  lashed  his 
horse  and  drove  off,  while  De  Chevagny  cast  one  last 
look  on  the  Bastille  and  shuddered. 

"Forty-five  years,"  he  murmured,  "  forty-five  years. 
A  young  man  when  I  entered  there,  an  old  man  now — 
worn  out  and  near  his  end." 


THE   MARQUIS   GOES   HOME.  337 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Bertie,  "  do  not  think  so.  Re- 
member, you  may  find  many  alive  who  are  still  dear  to 
you.  Let  us  pray  so  at  least." 

But  the  marquis,  burying  his  head  in  the  collar  of 
his  cloak,  spoke  no  more,  though  Bertie,  regarding  him 
from  time  to  time,  saw  that  he  was  gazing  out  and  ob- 
serving the  places  they  passed  by ;  and  as  they  trav- 
ersed the  Pont  Neuf,  he  observed  a  brighter  look  in 
his  face  than  he  had  hitherto  seen.  "  This,  at  least, 
has  not  changed,"  he  muttered.  "  It  is  the  same  as 
when  I  was  young — as  when  I  passed  over  it  to  go  to 
the  Bastille.  Forty-five  years  ago ! — forty-five  years 
ago !  " 

Presently — for  it  was  no  great  distance  from  the 
Quartier  St.  Antoine  to  that  of  St.  Germain — the 
hackney  coach  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  Rue  Charles 
Martel ;  a  long,  sad-looking  street,  having  high  walls 
all  along  it  into  which  were  set  great  wooden  gates, 
and  behind  which  were  large  courtyards  belonging  to 
the  various  mansions  or  hotels  of  the  nobility.  Yet, 
as  they  entered  this  street  and  observed  a  large, 
modern,  and  very  gaunt-looking  house,  De  Chevagny 
seemed  more  bewildered  than  ever,  and  raised  his 
finger  to  his  forehead  as  though  confused. 

«  l_I_do  not  understand,"  he  said.  "  Has  the 
man  mistaken  the  way?  Bellancourt's  house  stood 
here— years  ago— when  I  was  a  lad.  I  have  played  in 
the  gardens  often— oh,  so  often,  with  his  children  ! 
It  was  an  old,  old  house,  built  in  the  days  of  Henri  of 
Navarre.  Where  is  it  ?  That  is  not  it." 

"This  is  a  new  building,"  replied  Bertie;  "is  it 
not  possible  the  present  owner  may  have  removed  the 
old  one  to  make  way  for  this  ? " 

"Yes,  yes,"-De  Chevagny  whispered -"yes,  it  is 


338  DENOUNCED. 

forty-five  years  ago.  I  should  have  remembered. 
Forty-five  years  ago.  And  sixty  since  I  played  under 
the  cedars  in  the  garden.  My  God !  " 

The  hackney  carriage  rolled  along  slowly,  for  in 
this  old-fashioned  street  the  road,  like  so  many  in 
Paris  in  those  days,  was  far  from  good,  and  a  slight 
thaw  had  now  set  in  which  rendered  it  particularly 
heavy.  Then,  looking  out,  the  marquis  pointed  to  an 
antique  mansion  the  roofs  of  which  could  be  seen  be- 
hind the  walls. 

"  See,"  he  said  excitedly,  "  see,  it  is  the  house  of 
De  Montpouillan,  the  man  whom  the  King  delighted 
to  honour !  I  was  at  a  ball  there  three  nights  before  I 
was  taken,  and  he — Louis,  the  Grand  Monarque — was 
there  too.  He  danced  in  the  ballet  *  with  the  daughter 
of  St.  Hillaire,  a  blonde  whose  hair  shone  like  the 
gold  of  a  new  Louis  (Tor.  Man  Dieu  !  observe — there 
is  a  hatchment  over  the  house.  Someone  is  dead." 

Again  Bertie  tried  to  soothe  him  by  reminding  him 
that,  whomsoever  it  might  be,  he  could  scarcely  have 
known  them  after  his  long  and  terrible  absence ;  yet 
this  consolation,  unhappy  as  it  was,  only  served  to 
remind  him  of  his  own  sad  fate  and  to  set  him  once 
more  murmuring,  "  Forty-five  years !  " 

But  a  moment  afterwards  he  gave  a  gasp — a  cry, 
indeed — and  exclaimed  : 

"  My  house !  my  house  !  See,  see,  it  is  there  !  "  and 
called  feebly  to  the  driver  to  stop. 

Above  the  walls  Bertie  could  perceive  the  red  tiles 

*  The  ballets  in  which  the  French  kings,  and  Louis  XIV  in  par- 
ticular, frequently  danced,  were  more  in  the  style  of  a  minuet  than 
anything  else.  There  is  a  picture  in  the  Luxembourg  of  one  being, 
performed,  with  Louis  taking  part  in  it  and  representing  Le 
Printemps, 


THE   MARQUIS   GOES   HOME. 

of  a  long,  low  hotel ;  could  observe  also  that  in  many 
places  some  of  those  tiles  had  fallen  away  and  left 
great  gaps  yawning;  and  also  that  the  whole  gave 
signs  of  being  in  a  ruinous  condition.  The  huge, 
double  wooden  gates  hung  loosely  on  their  hinges, 
while  one  or  two  beams  in  them  bulged  inward  from 
rottenness  and  the  lock,  once  large  and  handsome 
and  a  triumph  of  the  smith's  art,  was  rusted  and 
almost  fallen  from  its  wooden  socket. 

"Alas  !  alas  !  "  thought  Elphinston  to  himself,  "  it 
is  not  here  that  he  will  find  his  wife  or  child.  He 
must  look  farther  for  them — perhaps  in  heaven ! — • 
who  knows  ?  Poor  De  Chevagny — poor,  unhappy 
man  !  " 

There  hung  a  great  iron  bell-handle  on  the  side  of 
the  vast  door,  and  the  marquis,  grasping  it,  rang  a  peal 
that  could  be  heard  echoing  in  the  house  itself  across 
the  courtyard — a  peal  that  met  with  no  response. 
Then  they  waited  for  a  minute  or  two,  the  marquis 
leaning  on  Bertie's  arm  and  gazing  up  wistfully  into 
his  face,  as  though  seeking  to  read  therein  what  his 
thoughts  might  be,  and  the  driver  staring  over  the 
wall  at  the  unshuttered  and  uncurtained  windows. 

"Mon  Dieu  !  "  the  man  muttered  to  himself  so  that 
they  could  not  hear  him,  "after  having  dwelt  in  the 
palais  des  grenouilles*  so  long,  it  is  not  strange  if  the 
master  is  no  more  expected,"  and  he  cracked  his  whip 
vigorously  as  though  hoping,  perhaps,  to  thereby  at- 
tract some  attention  from  within. 

Still  the  old  man  looked  up  sadly  at  his  com- 
panion's face,  and  muttered,  "  My  home,  my  home  !  " 

f — 

*  A  derisive  name  sometimes  applied  to  the  Bastille,  especially 
by  the  lower  classes  in  Paris. 


340  DENOUNCED. 

so  ruefully  that  the  other  had  to  turn  away  from  him 
so  that  he  should  not  see  his  eyes ;  and  then  Bertie, 
seizing  the  bell  handle,  rang  a  strong,  lusty  peal 
upon  it. 

"  If  there  is  anyone  here,"  he  said,  "  that  should 
arouse  them.  The  bell  has  a  tongue  that  might  wake 
the  dead !  " 

He  could  have  bitten  his  own  tongue  out  a  moment 
later,  for  at  his  words,  especially  the  last  one,  De 
Chevagny  started,  and  then  muttered,  "  The  dead — 
the  dead.  Ah  !  it  is  the  dead  who  never  come  back 
to  us.  They  are  gone.  All  are  gone !  When  shall 
we  meet  again  ?  Never,  never,  never !  " 

As  though  in  answer  to  that  question  which  his 
own  weary  heart  had  answered  for  itself,  a  door  was 
heard  to  open  in  the  front  of  the  house — it  creaked 
wofully  on  its  hinges — and  then  steps  were  also  heard 
upon  the  stones  of  the  courtyard,  the  steps  of  some- 
one in  sabots,  and  next  the  key  was  turned  in  the 
rusty  lock  and  one  half  of  the  great  gate  pulled 
back ;  following  upon  which,  a  woman  of  about  forty 
years  of  age  appeared  at  the  doorway,  and,  after  re- 
garding the  fiacre  and  the  young  man  with  the  old 
one  now  leaning  so  heavily  on  his  arm,  asked  them 
what  they  desired. 

"  To  come  into  my  own  house,"  said  the  latter, 
looking  at  her,  though  he  could  see  at  once  that  she 
had  been  born  since  he  last  stood  upon  that  spot.  "  I 
am  the  Marquis  de  Chevagny." 

She  was  not  an  uncomely-looking  woman,  neither 
did  she  appear  hard  nor  severe;  still  she  answered, 
with  a  look  of  suspicion  in  her  face : 

"There  is  no  Marquis  de  Chevagny.  The  title 
exists  no  longer." 


THE   MARQUIS   GOES   HOME.  ^l 

"  Yet,"  said  the  old  man  feebly,  "  I  am  he.  This 
is  my  house.  Woman,  I  have  but  left  the  Bastille  an 
hour  ago.  I  have  been  a  prisoner  there  for  forty-five 
years." 

She  took  a  step  backward,  as  though  to  regard 
him  more  particularly,  while  her  brow  wrinkled  a  little 
and  her  colour  came  and  went,  as  she  exclaimed,  "  My 
God,  it  is  not  possible  !  -" 

"It  is  true,"  he  said.  "I  pray  you  let  me  enter. 
I  am  very  old  and  feeble — older  than  even  I  should 
be  by  my  years — and — and  this  is  my  house.  Do  not 
refuse  me ! " 

"  Enter,"'  the  woman  said,  pulling  wider  open  the 
door.  "  And  this — monsieur,"  glancing  at  Bertie, 
"  who  is  he  ?" 

"  I  also  have  been  a  prisoner  in  the  Bastille, 
though  for  only  a  short  space  of  time  in  comparison 
with  his.  I  beseech  you,"  he  said,  sinking  his  voice 
to  a  whisper,  "  answer  him  very  gently — especially 
when  he  asks  you  of — of  his  family." 

"  I  understand,"  the  woman  said  in  return  as  she 
walked  by  their  side  across  the  courtyard,  in  which 
one  or  two  fowls  were  strutting  about — "  I  under- 
stand. Is  he  truly  the  marquis  ? " 

"  He  is,  indeed." 

"  God  help  him ! "  and  as  she  spoke,  they  reached 
the  door  of  the  house. 

They  entered  a  great  hall  with  a  tiled  floor  and, 
above  it  at  the  back,  a  window  of  stained  glass,  some 
panes  of  which  were  broken — a  hall  in  which  there 
was  no  furniture  except  a  plain  oaken  bench,  that 
looked  as  though  it  had  been  used  to  chop  wood 
upon;  and  on  to  this  the  Marquis  de  Chevagny 
sank,  exhausted  already,  while  Bertie,  saddened  at 


342 


DENOUNCED. 


such  a  home-coming  as  this,  stood  by  to  cheer  and 
comfort  him  if  possible. 

"  This  is  not  as  I  left  it,"  the  old  man  said  as  his 
glance  roved  round  the  spacious  but  empty  hall. 
"  Has  there  been  no  one  to  guard  it  ? "  Then,  as 
though  such  trifles  were  unworthy  of  consideration,  he 
asked  eagerly,  while  a  strange  light  shone  from  his 
eyes :  "  I  had  a  wife,  a  child,  when  they  took  me  from 
here.  Are  they — they — still  alive  ? " 

"  Is  it  possible  monsieur  does  not  know  ? " 

"  Know !  What  should  I  know  ?  Woman,  I  tell 
you  1  have  been  dead  to  the  world  for  forty-five  years 
— buried  alive  in  a  place  to  which  no  news  ever  conies. 
Where,"  he  continued,  "  where  are  my  wife  and  child  ? " 

"Alas!  monsieur,"  she  said,  seeming  while  she 
spoke  as  though  endeavouring  to  avoid  answering 
him,  "  I  have  heard  of  you  from  my  father  ;  he  was 
garde  chasse  at  the  Chateau  de  Chevagny  many  years 
ago." 

"  Lenoir  !     Was  he  your  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  but  he  has  been  dead  these  twenty 
years ;  and  then " 

"  My  wife  and  child  !  "  he  interrupted — "  my  wife 
and  child !  Are  they  dead,  too  ?" 

"  Alas !  monsieur,  I  never  saw  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise. She — she — died  the  year  I  was  born."  . 

De  Chevagny  straightened  himself  upon  the  bench 
— as  he  did  so  there  came  to  Bertie's  recollection  how 
his  own  father  had  so  straightened  himself  as  he  died  in 
his  arms  a  few  years  before,  and  he  wondered  why  he 
recalled  that  incident  at  this  moment — then  the  mar- 
quis said  : 

"  The  year  you  were  born  ?     How  old  are  you  ?" 

"  Forty-one,  monsieur." 


THE    MARQUIS   GOES   HOME.  343 

"  Forty-one !  "  he  whispered,  "  forty-one !  So !  she 
lived  four  years.  Four  years.  And  I — I — have  been 
hoping,  praying — O  God  !  how  I  have  prayed ! — to 
see  her  again — to  see  her  again,  while  for  forty-one 
years  she  has  been  lying  in  her  grave — in  her  grave !  " 

He  paused  awhile,  perhaps  because  he  heard  the 
sobs  of  Bertie  and  the  woman  mingling  with  his  own ; 
then  he  said : 

"  And  the  little  child — my  dear,  dear  little  babe ! 
Is — is  she  dead,  too  ? " 

"  Non,  monsieur — at  least  I  think  not.     She " 

"Thank  God!" 

"  She  married,  very  young,  the  Vicomte  de  Brunet," 
the  woman  answered  through  her  tears,  "and  went 
with  him  to  Guadeloupe;  and  sometimes,  at  inter- 
vals, she  writes  to  her  friends  in  Paris,  and  they  send 
me  news  of  her.  Also,  she  has  once  written  to  me." 

"  And  she  is  well  ?  Has  she  children  of  her  own, 
perhaps  ? " 

"  No,  monsieur.  Her  marriage  has  not  been  so 
blessed  by  the  bon  Dieu  !  " 

He  sat  thinking  awhile,  meditating  deeply  ere  he 
spoke  again  ;  then  he  said : 

"  But  this  house  and  the  chateau— they  were  good 
properties ;  we  have  drawn  large  sums  from  them  for 
generations.  Who  takes  the  rents,  the  produce,  now- 
to  whom  do  they  belong  ? " 

"To  the  state,  I  have  heard,  monsieur;  to  the 
King ;  though,  it  is  said,  in  trust  only.  Yet,  I  know 
not.  I  cannot  say.  But  I  suppose  so.  Twice  annu- 
ally a  monsieur  comes  from  the  minister  of  the  King 
to  visit  us,  and  twice,  also,  I  hear,  one  visits  the  cha- 
teau. If  all  has  been  saved  for  you,  monsieur,  during 
your  long  absence,  you  should  be  very  rich." 


344  DENOUNCED. 

"  Rich,"  he  repeated — "  rich !  very  rich  !  Yes, 
yes,  very  rich."  Then,  turning  on  the  woman  sud- 
denly, almost  fiercely  for  him,  he  asked : 

"Where — where,  do  you  know — did  my  wife  die? 
Where  did  my  little  child  live  until  she  married  ?  If 
the  state,  the  King,  took  possession  of  my  property, 
they  would  not  let  them  stay  here  nor  at  the  chateau." 

"  Madame  la  Marquise  went  back  to  stay  with  her 
father  after  monsieur  had  gone  away.  Mademoiselle 
de  Chevagny  lived  with  him  also  until  she  married." 
Then,  observing  that  the  old  man  looked  even  more 
feeble  and  drawn  than  she  had  at  first  noticed,  she 
said :  "  But,  monsieur,  do  not  stay  here  in  this  cold 
hall.  Come  into  the  saloon,  I  beg  of  you.  There  is  no 
fire,  but  I  can  soon  make  one.  Come,  monsieur,  come." 

Slowly  leaning  on  Bertie's  arm,  he  rose  at  her  be- 
hest— and  now  the  latter  perceived  that  he  weighed 
more  heavily  on  him  than  before — and,  all  together, 
they  went  into  a  fair-sized  salon,  or  morning-room,  to 
the  left  of  the  corridor ;  while  the  woman,  preceding 
them,  made  haste  to  open  the  window  shutters  and  to 
let  a  flood  of  light  from  the  wintry  sun  pour  into  the 
room. 

It  seemed  to  have  been  left  much  as  it  must  have 
been  in  those  long-past  years,  when  so  dreadful  a  doom 
had  fallen  upon  that  unhappy  family — perhaps  had 
scarcely  undergone  any  alteration  since  those  days. 
Upon  the  walls  there  hung  several  pictures:  one,  of  a 
man  in  half  armour,  bearing  a  strong  resemblance  to 
him  who  now  tottered  on  Bertie's  arm ;  another,  of  an 
elderly  woman,  of  a  long  anterior  date;  a  third,  of  a 
young  man  in  all  the  bravery  of  the  rich  apparel  of 
Louis  XIV's  date,  a  young  man  with  bright  blue  eyes 
and  a  joyous  smile — De  Chevagny  himself.  Also, 


THE   MARQUIS   GOES   HOME. 


345 


there  were  many  chairs,  none  very  comfortable,  since, 
fifty  years  before  this  time,  comfortable  chairs  were 
almost  unknown  articles  ;  a  table  or  so  and  a  tabouret ; 
also  a  woman's  worktable  in  a  corner  by  the  fireplace 
with,  above  it,  a  painting  of  a  fair  young  girl  with  a 
soft,  gentle  expression,  done  in  what  was,  at  the  period 
in  which  it  was  painted,  quite  a  new  style — the  style  of 
Antoine  Watteau — and  much  embellished  with  a  rural 
landscape  behind  the  portrait. 

With  a  gasp,  a  cry  of  recognition,  De  Chevagny 
regarded  this  portrait  in  the  light  of  the  thin  Decem- 
ber sun,  and  then,  leaning  now  so  heavily  on  Bertie's 
arm  as  to  be  almost  entirely  held  up  and  supported  by 
him,  he  exclaimed : 

"  See !  see !  She  has  come  back  to  me ;  we  have 
met  again  !  Again,  Jeanne,  my  love,  my  wife,  my 
dear  !  O  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  we  shall  be  so  happy  now !  " 

The  woman  and  Bertie  regarded  each  other  sig- 
nificantly, though  neither  could  speak  from  emotion, 
while  De  Chevagny  addressed  the  latter,  saying: 

"  See  !  there  is  the  table  where  nightly  she  sits  and 
works,  making  little  things  for  the  child  that  is  to  come 
— the  babe  that  shall  make  us  so  happy.  Here,"  and 
he  put  his  finger  on  a  gilt  nail  by  the  chimney-piece, 
"  where  she  hangs  her  workbasket  at  night ;  here,"  and 
he  pointed  to  a  low  stool,  "where  I  sit  by  her  side  and 
tell  her  all  I  have  done  at  the  court." 

He  broke  off,  and  appeared  to  be  listening. 

"  Hark !  "  he  said,  •'  hark  !  It  is  striking  eleven— we 
are  going  to  bed— the  great  cloche  is  ringing;  there  is 
a  noise  in  the  courtyard.  God  !  "  he  screamed,  "it  is 
full  of  torches;  the  exempts  are  there;  they  have 
come  to  seize  me— to  drag  me  to  the  Bastille— to  part 
us !  Hide  !  oh,  hide  me !  " 


346 


DENOUNCED. 


"  Courage,  courage,  dear  friend,"  said  Bertie,  sooth- 
ingly, as  he  held  him  in  his  arms,  and  noticed  once 
again  how  heavy  and  inert  his  poor  form  was — "  cour- 
age, courage!  They  will  never  come  for  you  again. 
You  are  free  forever  now.  Dispel  these  illusions.  Be 
brave." 

"  Free,"  he  repeated,  "  free  !  "  and  his  wandering 
blue  eyes  sought  Bertie's  once  more,  while  in  them 
there  was  again  that  wistful  look  which  so  wrung  his 
heart.  "  Free  !  yes,  I  am  free !  "  and  as  he  spoke  he 
released  himself  from  Elphinston's  grasp  and  flung 
himself  upon  his  knees  before  his  wife's  picture. 

"My  darling,"  he  murmured,  gazing  up  at  it,  " ma 
mignonne,  we  shall  never  part  more.  I  am  free !  free  ! 
free  !  And  so  happy  !  oh,  so  happy  !  "  and  he  clasped 
his  hands  together  and  bent  over  the  low  chair  before 
the  picture.  And  once  again  he  looked  up  and  mur- 
mured, "  So — so  happy  now  !  " 

When  at  last  they  ventured  to  speak  to  him,  and, 
getting  no  answer,  to  raise  his  head,  they  saw  upon  his 
face  so  sweet  and  placid  a  smile  that,  remembering  all, 
Bertie  would  not  have  wished  to  call  him  back  to  the 
world  in  which  he  had  suffered  so  much. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

"AN    OUTSTAYED    WELCOME." 

IT  was  the  night  of  Monday,  the  roth  of  December, 
1748,  and  once  again  all  Paris  lay  under  the  snow — 
snow  that  hung  in  great  masses  over  the  eaves  of  the 
houses,  threatening,  when  the  next  thaw  should  come, 
to  fall  and  envelop  the  passers-by ;  that  was  caked 
and  hardened  on  the  chauss&es  of  all  the  streets  by  the 
recent  hard  frost;  that,  out  on  the  quays,  was  of  the 
consistency  of  iron  almost  from  the  same  cause;  while, 
so  severe  had  that  frost  been,  that  on  the  river  the 
snow  had  been  frozen  into  huge  solid  blocks,  which 
swirled  round  and  round  in  vast  masses  as,  under  the 
stars,  they  floated  slowly  down  towards  the  open 
country  and  the  sea. 

There  were  but  few  abroad  on  this  cold  night,  cer- 
tainly few  pedestrians;  yet,  as  the  clocks  from  Notre 
Dame  and  all  the  other  churches  round  struck  eleven, 
there  was  one  who,  swiftly  making  his  way  along  the 
Quai  des  The"atins,  directly  opposite  the  Louvre, 
seemed  neither  to  he'ed  the  cold  nor  the  snow  beneath 
his  feet.  Wrapped  in  a  long  cloak,  or  roquelaure, 
held  up  sufficiently,  however,  not  to  impede  his  limbs 
in  their  stride,  and  with  his  three-cornered  hat  pressed 
down  closely  over  his  head,  this  man,  without  turning 
round  to  regard  even  the  few  casual  passers-by,  went 
onward  until,  as  he  neared  the  edge  of  the  quay,  on 
23  347 


348  DENOUNCED. 

which  stood  a  large,  imposing  hotel,  from  the  windows 
of  which  issued  a  blaze  of  lights,  he  suddenly  stopped 
in  amazement  i  for  outside  this  great  mansion  there 
was  what  he  least  would  have  expected  to  see — a  large 
concourse  of  people  assembled  together,  indiscrimi- 
nately mixed  with  whom  were  exempts,  other  officers 
of  police,  and  a  considerable  body  of  soldiers,  as  well 
as  several  sergeants  of  the  grenadiers  clad  in  their 
cuirasses  and  skullcaps.  Also  he  saw  a  number  of 
musketeers  (or  horse  guards)  standing  by  their  horses 
ready  to  mount  them,  as  well  as  several  of  the  guets, 
or  street  watchmen,  near  them ;  while,  to  make  this 
concourse  more  astonishing  to  those  who  did  not 
know  what  might  be  its  object,  in  the  road  were  half 
a  dozen  scaling  ladders,  with,  by  them,  several  of  the 
guets,  with  axes  and  hammers  in  their  hands. 

But  that  which  was  more  astonishing  for  him  to 
behold  than  aught  else  was  that  between  the  ordinary 
people  or  onlookers  in  the  streets  and  the  officials, 
civil  and  military,  who  stood  in  front  of  the  mansion, 
was  stretched  as  a  barrier  a  thick,  handsome,  crimson 
silk  cord  fringed  with  gold.  This  cord,  attached  to 
gilt  poles  or  staves  about  four  feet  high,  served  with 
the  hotel  itself  to  form  an  exact  square,  the  house 
making  the  fourth  side  ;  and  inside  that  square  itself 
it  was  that  the  musketeers,  sergeants  of  the  grena- 
diers, and  superior  officers  of  the  police  were  standing, 
as  well  as  several  other  officers  of  high  rank,  as  testi- 
fied by  their  gorgeous  uniforms  and  trappings. 

"  It  is  the  Prince's  house,"  Bertie  whispered  to  him- 
self, for  he  was  the  man  who  had  been  making  his  way 
swiftly  along  the  Quai  des  Theatins  but  a  few  mo- 
ments ago — "the  Prince's  house!  What  can  be  in- 
tended towards  him  ?  He  should  be  safe  here  in 


"AN   OUTSTAYED   WELCOME."  349 

Paris,  if  anywhere.  And  Kate  is  within — a  lady  of 
his  suite — ill,  and,  my  mother  said,  sick  almost  to 
death.  Heaven  !  I  may  not  be  able  to  see  her  even 
now,  after  so  long!  What  a  fate  is  mine!  On  the 
first  night  that  I  am  able  to  approach  her  after  so 
long  and  cruel  a  separation,  to  find  the  way  barred 
thus !  " 

He  .was  about  to  ask  a  man  in  the  crowd  which  he 
had  now  joined  what  the  strange  scene  meant,  when  a 
murmur  arose  amongst  those  collected  there,  and  at  the 
same  moment  the  order  was  given  to  the  musketeers 
to  mount  their  horses  and  the  sergeants  of  grenadiers 
to  form  their  men  into  double  line.  And  at  that  in- 
stant the  tramp  of  other  animals'  hoofs  was  heard 
and  the  roll  of  wheels.  Then,  a  moment  later,  a  hand- 
some and  much-gilded  coach  drawn  by  four  horses 
came  swiftly  along  the  quay  until  it  reached  the  crowd, 
and  the  astonished  coachman,  seeing  the  gilt-embroid- 
ered crimson  cord  with  the  military  behind  it,  pulled 
his  animals  up  sharply. 

From  the  interior  of  the  coach  a  voice,  clear,  crisp, 
and  distinct,  was  heard  exclaiming  in  French : 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  assembly  ?  Why  am 
I  prevented  from  entering  my  house? "and  directly 
afterwards  a  gloved  hand  was  put  out  from  the  open 
window,  while  a  tall  young  man  of  about  thirty  years 
of  age  stepped  from  the  coach. 

He  was  clad,  perhaps  because  of  the  wintry 
weather,  in  a  thick  rose-coloured  velvet  suit  embroid- 
ered with  silver  and  lined  with  peach-coloured  satu 
and  silver  tissue,  and  his  waistcoat  was  a  rich  gold 
brocade  with  a  spangled  fringe  set  on  in  scallops;  h 
silk  stockings  were  also  peach-coloured  ;  in  his  lace 
cravat  there  sparkled  a  magnificent  diamond  solitaire. 


350 


DENOUNCED. 


Over  his  shoulders  he  wore  the  insignia  of  the  Garter 
of  England  and  the  order  of  St.  Andrew,  and  on  his 
breast  there  hung  a  gold  medal  by  a  blue  satin  ribbon, 
on  which,  if  it  could  have  been  inspected,  would  have 
been  seen  the  words,  "  Carolus,  Walliae  Princeps,  Amor 
et  Spes  Britannise."  As  to  his  appearance,  his  face 
was  oval  and  of  a  good  complexion,  though  now  he 
seemed  somewhat  pallid  in  the  torchlight,  and  his 
eyes,  which  were  very  prominent  and  full,  were  blue. 

"  God  bless  your  Royal  Highness !  "  cried  Bertie 
loudly,  in  which  he  was  imitated  by  many,  while  all 
the  officers  and  soldiers  saluted  him,  and  the  richly 
clad  civilians  in  the  inclosure  uncovered  their  hats. 

The  Prince  glanced  at  the  spot  where  Elphinston's 
voice  came  from,  and  gave  a  look  of  recognition  at 
his  tall,  stalwart  form ;  then,  turning  to  two  of  the 
gentlemen  who  surrounded  him,  he  said,  while  he 
threw  over  his  shoulders  a  small  fleecy  cape  of  ermine 
he  had  brought  in  his  hand  from  the  carriage :  "  Mon- 
seigneur  le  Due  de  Biron,  and  you,  Monsieur  de  Vau- 
dreville,  you  are  friends  of  mine — friends  ever,  as  I 
have  thought — explain  to  me,  therefore,  I  beg  you, 
why  my  way  is  barred  to  my  abode,  and  why  I  see  you 
amongst  those  who  so  bar  it  ?  And,  Monsieur  le  Due 
and  gentlemen,  the  night  is  more  than  cold ;  be  cov- 
ered, I  beseech  you,"  and  he  put  on  his  own  hat,  in 
the  lace  of  which  there  sparkled  another  superb  dia- 
mond as  an  aigrette,  while  the  white  cockade  was 
visible. 

But  the  others  remained  uncovered,  while  the  Due 
de  Biron  said : 

"  May  it  please  you,  monseigneur " 

"  Monseigneur!"  interrupted  Charles  Edward.  "  I 
am  the  Prince  of  Wales  !  Either  that,  or  nothing  ! 


*     "AN   OUTSTAYED  WELCOME."  ^l 

Now,  if  you  please,  the  reason  of  this  guet-apens.     Do 
I  owe  it  to  my  cousin  Louis  ?  " 

The  duke  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  though  depre- 
cating the  Prince's  wrath,  then  he  said : 

"  His  Majesty  regrets  that  your  Highness  would 
not  conform  to  his  desire  that  you  should  leave  France, 
according  to  the  terms  of  the  recent  peace  made  at 
Aix-la-Chapelle,  as  conveyed  to  you  by  the  Due  de 
Gesvres " 

"  Neither  my  royal  father  nor  I  had  part  in  that 
peace,"  again  interrupted  the  Prince. 

"  Therefore,"  went  on  the  Due  de  Biron,  "  his 
Majesty  has  thought  it  well  that  you  shall  be  con- 
ducted, with  all  respect  and  reverence,  to  the  frontier. 
Yet  some  forms  must  be  observed,  which  I  pray  your 
Highness  to  pardon."  Then,  turning  to  Monsieur  de 
Vaudreville,  he  said: 

"  Your  duty." 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  De  Vaudreville,  "  I  arrest  you 
in  the  name  of  the  King,  my  master." 

"Then,"  exclaimed  Bertie,  as  with  a  bound  he 
rushed  under  the  crimson  cord,  "  arrest  me  also  !  This 
is  the  Prince  of  Wales,  my  master;  we  fought  near  to 
one  another  in  the  Scotch  campaign ;  where  he  goes  I 
go  too ! " 

"  Captain  Elphinston,"  said  Charles  Edward,  who 
had  recognised  him  when  first  he  spoke,  "  I  am,  in- 
deed, rejoiced  to  see  you  by  my  side  again.  There 
could  be  no  truer  friend.  Yet  it  must  not  be.  Your 
services  have  already  been  too  many ;  I  can  never  re- 
quite them.  Henceforth  live  for  yourself  and  thos. 
who  love  you."  And  turning  to  the  duke  and  De 
Vaudreville,  who  with  the  soldiers  and  the  crowd  had 
been  astounded-indeed,  touched-with  this  proof  of 


352 


DENOUNCED. 


devotion  to  the  unfortunate  Prince,  he  said :  "  I  shall 
not  dispute  his  Majesty's  orders.  Yet,  I  think  the 
manner  is  a  little  too  violent." 

"  I  hope  not,  monseigneur,"  De  Biron  said.  "  I 
should  be  au  desespoir  if  such  were  the  case.  But  since 
there  are  other  formalities  to  be  gone  through  and 
your  Highness  does  not  contest  his  Majesty's  decree, 
will  you  please  to  enter  your  house,  and  to  permit  of 
our  accompanying  you  ?" 

"As  you  please,"  replied  the  Prince.  "But,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  Bertie,  "  here  is  a  gallant  gentleman 
of  the  family  of  my  Lord  Balmerino,  who  was  done  to 
death  on  Tower  Hill  in  my  cause.  He  is  a  devoted 
adherent  of  our  house,  though  I  have  lost  sight  of 
him  for  some  time.  Gentlemen,  I  am  alone,  save  for 
my  grooms.  I  beg  of  you  to  allow  him  to  enter  also." 

The  Due  de  Biron  and  De  Vaudreville  bowed  at 
his  words,  and  bowed  again  to  Elphinston,  after  which 
the  order  was  given  for  the  soldiers  to  stand  out  of  the 
way  while  his  Highness  entered  the  house.  Then, 
with  another  bow,  the  duke  begged  the  Prince  to  pre- 
cede them,  motioning  also  to  Bertie  to  accompany 
them. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Captain  Elphinston,"  Charles 
Edward  said  as  they  approached  the  hall.  "  I  have 
thought  often  of  you  and  of  your  poor  friend,  and 
mine,  Mr.  Sholto.  And — you  will  find  in  my  house 
one  to  whom  your  coming  may  be  a  new  life.  You 
understand  ?" 

"  I  understand,  your  Royal  Highness.  I  should 
have  been  here  long  before,  but  that  I  have  been  a 
prisoner  in  the  Bastille." 

"  In  the  Bastille  !  You  !  So  that  is  where  you  have 
been  hidden  from  all  human  knowledge.  But  stay — 


"AN   OUTSTAYED   WELCOME."  353 

we  cannot  talk  now.  What  do  they  intend  to  me  ? 
Do  you  know  ?  I  do  not,  though  I  have  long  known 
that  my  presence  in  Paris  is  unwelcome." 

Bertie  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and  then  they  en- 
tered the  hall  of  the  mansion  which  the  Prince  had 
hired  from  a  French  nobleman.  A  huge  fire  burned 
in  the  grate  at  one  end  of  it,  and  to  this  Charles  Ed- 
ward advanced,  and,  holding  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze, 
warmed  them. 

"Your  Highness,"  said  the  Due  de  Biron,  who  by 
no  means  appeared  to  relish  the  task  before  him, 
"  again  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  in  what  we  have  now 
to  do  no  disrespect  is  intended.  Yet,  it  must  be  done. 
I  have  to  ask  you  for  your  sword  and  any  other  weap- 
ons you  may  have  about  you." 

The  Prince  started  and  coloured  at  these  words, 
then,  with  a  calmness  which  he  never  lost  until  the  end 
of  his  life — when  despair  and,  alas !  drink  had  done 
their,  worst  with  him — he  said  : 

"  I  shall  never  deliver  my  sword  to  you,  nor  any 

man.  But,  since  I  am  helpless No,  Captain  El- 

phinston,"  seeing  a  movement  on  the  latter's  part,  "do 
not  interfere,  I  beg  you.  Since  I  am  helpless,  you  may 
take  them,  and  what  else  I  have  of  arms." 

At  a  sign  from  the  duke,  De  Vaudreville  undid  the 
sash  of  his  dress  sword — he  had  been  that  night  to  a 
gala  performance  at  the  opera  in  the  Palais  Royal— 
and  took  the  weapon  from  him,  and  then,  seeing  a 
melancholy  smile  upon  his  face,  the  other,  with  many 
profusions  of  apology  and  regret,  gently  felt  in  his 
pockets  and  removed  from  them  two  small  ivory- 
handled  and  silver-inlaid  pistols  and  a  little  knife  with 
two  blades. 

"Do  not  be  surprised,"  the  Prince  said,  "at  seeing 


354  DENOUNCED. 

the  pistols.  Since  I  was  hunted  like  a  wild  beast  in 
Scotland — ay,  hunted  even  by  dogs — I,  a  king's  son 
— I  have  carried  them  ever.  And  here  in  Paris  also 
my  life  has  been  sought." 

"  I  have  to  ask  your  Highness  to  give  a  promise 
that  you  will  make  no  attempt  on  your  own  life  nor 
that  of  any  other  person,"  De  Vaudreville  said. 

The  Prince  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  glanced  at 
the  pistols  and  knife  in  the  other's  hands ;  then  he  said, 
"  I  promise.  What  more  ? " 

"Your  Highness,"  said  the  duke,  "will  be  con- 
ducted to  Vincennes  to-night.  De  Chatelet  has  re- 
ceived orders  to  prepare  a  room  for  you.  To-morrow 
you  will  set  out  upon  your  journey.  But,  for  the 
present,  again  I  ask  your  Highness  to  pardon  me," 
and  he  faltered  as  he  continued,  "it  is  necessary  for 
the  greater  security  that  you  should  be  bound." 

"  Bound ! "  the  Prince  exclaimed,  and  now  he 
turned  white  as  death.  "  Bound  !  I !  The  Prince  of 
Wales ! " 

"Alas!  sire,"  said  the  duke,  "it  is  the  King's  or- 
ders. Yet,  I  pledge  you  my  word  as  a  peer  of  France, 
such  orders  are  issued  solely  out  of  regard  to  your 
Highness's  person,  and  to  prevent  you  making  any 
attempt  on  that  person." 

"  I  shall  make  no  attempt,"  Charles  Edward  re- 
plied. "  But  I  am  unused  to  such  proceedings  as  these. 
And  I  do  not  even  say  whether  they  are  justifiable  or 
not ;  the  disgrace  does  not  affect  me,  but  your  master 
alone." 

While  he  was  speaking,  De  Vaudreville  continued 
to  bind  him,  using  crimson  cord  of  a  similar  nature 
to  that  which  formed  the  barrier  outside,  and  at  last 
both  his  legs  and  arms  were  securely  tied,  when  the 


"AN   OUTSTAYED  WELCOME."  --- 

unhappy  Prince  lost  his  calmness,  and,  looking  down 
on  De  Vaudreville  with  a  glance  that  has  been  de- 
scribed as  "  menacing  and  terrible,"  exclaimed  : 
"  Have  you  not  enough  now  ? " 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  other,  "  though  it  is  nearly 
ended." 

It  was,  indeed,  nearly  ended,  since  the  Prince's 
body  was  now  so  swathed  with  the  cords  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  more  to  be  placed  round  it 
or  his  limbs,  and,  looking  at  the  duke  with  still  his  sad 
smile  upon  his  face,  he  said : 

"  I  hope,  monsieur,  no  other  Englishman  will  ever 
be  treated  thus.  They  are  not  made  for  such  a  pur- 
pose;"  after  which  he  asked  what  was  to  be  done 
next. 

l<To  Vincennes  next,"  replied  De  Biron,  with  a 
low  bow. 

"  My  horses  are  fatigued,"  the  Prince  said;  "they 
cannot  travel  so  far  and  back  to-night." 

"Have  no  fear,"  the  duke  answered.  "A  coach 
has  been  secured." 

And  now  they  prepared  to  lift  the  unhappy  de- 
scendant of  a  family  of  kings,  the  last  descendant 
who  ever  made  a  bid  or  struck  a  blow  for  all  that  his 
ancestors  had  lost — since  his  brother  the  cardinal, 
Henry,  Duke  of  York,  was  a  mere  shadow  of  a  Stuart — 
and  to  carry  him  to  the  hired  coach  that  waited  without. 
But  Bertie,  who  had  been  a  furious  witness  of  this 
insult  to  him  whom,  rightly  or  wrongly,  he  deemed — 
in  agreement  with  three  fourths  of  his  country  people 
and  perhaps  one  half  of  the  English — to  be  the  right- 
ful heir  to  the  English  throne,  could  not  part  thus 
from  him.  As  he  saw  him  tied  and  bound,  there  arose 
before  him  once  more  the  memory  of  the  bright  young 


356  DENOUNCED. 

chieftain  with  whom  he  had  embarked  at  Port  St. 
Lazare,  with  whom  he  had  landed  in  Lochaber,  and 
before  whom  the  old  Marquis  of  Tullibardine  had  un- 
furled at  Glenfinnan  his  white,  blue,  and  red  silk 
standard,  with,  on  it,  the  proud  and  happy  motto, 
"  Tandem  Triumphans." 

Also  before  his  eyes  there  rose  the  progress  through 
Scotland,  the  joyous  welcome  at  Edinburgh,  the  vic- 
tory at  Prestonpans,  the  surrender  at  Carlisle,  the 
glorious  march  to  and  arrival  at  Derby,  with  the  news 
which  succeeded  that  arrival,  to  the  effect  that  the 
German  King  was  trembling  for  fear  at  St.  James's, 
and  all  London  mad  with  terror.  And  then  Culloden  ! 
— that  bitter  day,  when,  as  Cumberland's  butchers 
hacked  and  shot  the  wounded  and  the  dying,  Charles 
urged  on  the  living  to  avenge  their  comrades,  and 
was  at  last  forced  off  the  field  against  his  will,  his  face 
bespattered  with  the  dirt  thrown  up  by  the  cannon 
balls  that  fell  around  him. 

And  now  to  see  him  thus ! 

"Oh,  sir,"  he  cried,  flinging  himself  at  the  Prince's 
feet,  "  let  me  go  with  you  wherever  the  King  of 
France  may  see  fit  to  send  you.  Give  me  but  leave 
to  see  her  I  love,  to  tell  her  that  once  more  I  have 
returned  to  her,  and  then  let  me  follow  you,  as  is  my 
duty  and  desire,  wherever  you  go !  " 

It  was  not  only  Charles  Edward  who  was  affected 
by  this  manly  speech ;  even  De  Biron,  who  under- 
stood English  well,  and  De  Vaudreville,  who  did  not, 
but  evidently  guessed  accurately  what  he  had  said, 
were  touched  by  it. 

"  No,  Elphinston,  no,"  the  Prince  replied.  "  As  I 
said  but  now,  the  day  is  past  for  services  to  be  ren- 
dered to  me  or  my  cause.  That  cause  is  lost ;  this  is 


"AN   OUTSTAYED  WELCOME."  357 

the  last  blow.  When  France  joins  hands  with  Eng- 
land, how  can  a  Stuart  hope  ?  Farewell,  Captain  El- 
phinston ;  she  whom  you  love — I  know  all ! — will  re- 
cover yet,  ill  as  she  is,  I  hope.  I  pray  to  God  that 
He  may  bless  you  both.  Farewell !  we  shall  never 
meet  again — never  again  !  Yet,  remember,  I  beseech 
you,  when  you  hear  my  name  mentioned,  that  we 
fought  side  by  side  once — that  we  were  comrades — 
and — and — so,  try  to  think  well  of  me." 

They  bore  him  away  after  this,  scarce  giving  Ber- 
tie time  to  kiss  his  hand,  and  from  that  night  they 
never  did  meet  again.  To  the  Prince  there  were  still 
to  be  forty  years  of  life  accorded ;  what  that  life  be- 
came, with  every  hope  shattered  and  every  desire  un- 
accomplished, the  world  well  knows. 

Between  them  the  grenadiers  and  De  Vaudreville 
carried  him  to  the  hired  coach — for  owing  to  his 
silken  fetters  he  was  unable  to  walk — and  put  him 
into  it  at  the  spot  where  it  waited,  behind  the  kitchens. 
And  Bertie,  following  like  a  faithful  dog  who  perceives 
its  master  departing,  thus  saw  the  last  of  him  and  re- 
ceived his  last  look.  De  Vaudreville,  he  observed,  sat 
by  him;  two  captains  of  the  musketeers  entered  the 
coach  and  sat  opposite  to  him  ;  two  other  officers  rode 
on  each  side  of  the  vehicle,  with  a  hand  upon  the  door ; 
six  grenadiers  with  fixed  bayonets  mounted  behind 
like  footmen,  and  the  rest  of  the  soldiers  accompanied 
them  on  foot.* 

Thus  the  last  but  one  of  the  Stuarts  left  Paris; 
thus  the  last  hospitality  and  favour  of  France  were 
withdrawn  from  the  representative  of  the  unhappy 
family  whose  cause  France  had  so  long  espoused. 

*  Note  E.    Arrest  of  Charles  Edward. 


358  DENOUNCED. 

"  And  now,"  said  Bertie  to  himself,  as  with  a  final 
courteous  bow  the  Due  de  Biron  entered  his  own  gor- 
geous carriage  and  departed  to  give  an  account  of  the 
proceedings  to  Louis — "and  now  for  her  whom  I  have 
pined  for  so  long!  God  grant  that  the  report  of  her 
ill-health  may  be  exaggerated !  If  I  lose  her,  I  have 
nothing  more  to  live  for  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

"  LOVE    STRONG    AS   DEATH  !  " 

NEITHER  the  Due  de  Biron  nor  De  Vaudreville  had 
thought  it  necessary  to  place  any  of  their  soldiery  or 
police  within  the  mansion — perhaps  because  the  per- 
son they  required  was  himself  outside  it — and,  conse- 
quently, there  was  nothing  to  prevent  Bertie  from 
making  his  way  from  the  hall  to  the  upper  regions 
where  he  naturally  supposed  Kate  would  be — noth- 
ing, that  is  to  say,  beyond  a  few  terrified-looking  men- 
servants,  who,  on  perceiving  him  mount  the  stairs,  re- 
treated before  him,  probably  imagining  that  he  had 
been  left  in  possession  of  the  place  by  those  who  had 
taken  away  their  master.  They  were  quickly,  how- 
ever, undeceived  by  the  stranger  calling  to  them  to 
ask  who  was  now  in  charge  of  the  establishment,  and 
to  whom  he  should  address  himself  with  a  view  to 
finding  Lady  Fordingbridge. 

"  Lady  Fordingbridge,"  one  of  the  footmen  replied, 
answering  him  in  French,  as  he  had  spoken,  though 
his  accent  showed  plainly  enough  that  he  was  a  Scotch- 
man— "  Lady  Fordingbridge  !  She  sees  no  one  ;  she 
is  very  ill.  She  is,  indeed " 

"  What !  "  interrupted  Bertie,  in  so  sad  a  voice  that 
even  the  man  refrained  from  concluding  his  speech, 
which  he  had  intended  to  do  with  the  words,  "dying, 
they  say." 

359 


360  DENOUNCED. 

But  here  a  lady  who  had  been  descending  the  stairs 
from  above,  and  now  reached  the  corridor  on  the  first 
floor  at  the  same  time  that  Elphinston  did,  came  for- 
ward and  said,  as  she  motioned  the  servants  back  : 

"  It  is  indeed  Captain  Elphinston  !  Oh,  why  not 
have  come  sooner,  and  why,  of  all  nights,  be  so  un- 
happy as  to  select  this  one?  Captain  Elphinston, 
your  disappearance  has  very  nearly  brought  Lady 
Fordingbridge  to  her  grave — that,  and  the  tragic  death 
of  her  husband." 

"She  knows  that,  then?"  he  asked,  as  he  recog- 
nised the  lady  who  spoke  to  him,  she  being  the  wife 
of  Lord  Ogilvie,  whose  title  at  that  time  was  forfeited 
in  England,  though  afterward  restored — "  she  knows 
that,  then  ? " 

"Yes,  she  knows  it,"  Lady  Ogilvie  replied. 

"  Does  she  also  know  the  reason  of  it — of  why  he 
was  led  forth  to  execution  on  the  Place  de  Greve?" 
Bertie  next  demanded.  He  himself  knew  it  now  ;  his 
mother,  whom  he  found  still  alive  and  well,  though 
terribly  prostrated  by  the  two  years  and  more  of 
anxiety  which  she  had  endured  since  his  disappear- 
ance, having  told  him  all. 

"  No,"  her  ladyship  replied, "  that  she  does  not  know. 
We  have  never  told  her.  Rather  we  have  let  her  sup- 
pose that  he  was  about  to  be  executed  for  some  polit- 
ical crime.  We  could  not  tell  her  how  base  he  was. 
Yet,"  she  went  on,  "  it  seems  that  you  and  he  met  in 
prison — that  you  forgave  him.  Did  you  forgive  him 
that?" 

"Nay,"  replied  Bertie,  "I  knew  not  what  he  had 
done,  and  only  saw  that  his  mind  was  gone.  And, 
not  knowing,  I  forgave.  Now,  Lady  Ogilvie,  I  be- 
seech you  let  me  go  to  her  !  " 


"LOVE   STRONG  AS   DEATH!"  361 

"  First,"  she  replied,  "  I  must  warn  her  that  you  are 
here.  She  is  very  ill ;  she  cannot  bear  a  shock." 

"Is  she  as  ill  as  that  ?" 

"  She  is  very  weak  and  feeble.  Perhaps  now  you 
have  appeared  again,  come  back  almost  from  the 
very  jaws  of  death,  she  may  recover.  Let  us  pray 
she  will ! " 

Then  she  left  him  alone,  saying  she  would  soon  re- 
turn. 

Agonizing  as  had  been  the  long  hours,  weeks, 
months  that  he  had  spent  alone  in  the  chapel-room 
of  the  Bastille,  and  nearly  as  much  alone  in  the  ca- 
lotte with  De  Chevagny,  when,  both  heartbroken,  they 
had  sometimes  scarcely  exchanged  a  word  for  days, 
none  had  seemed  more  bitter,  more  unendurable,  than 
the  few  minutes  during  which  Lady  Ogilvie  was  ab- 
sent. For  everything  that  he  had  gathered  as  to  the 
state  of  Kate's  health,  since  he  had  emerged  into  the 
world  once  more,  pointed  only  too  plainly  to  the  fact 
that  he  had  but  found  her  again  to  again  lose  her, 
and  to  lose  her  this  time  beyond  all  hopes  of  re- 
covery. 

"Come,"  said  Lady  Ogilvie,  returning  to  him— 
"  come ;  she  is  now  expecting  you.  I  have  prepared 
her.  Come." 

He  followed  her  up  the  great  stairs  to  the  second 
floor,  and  there  his  companion  opened  the  door  and 
ushered  him  into  a  large,  well-warmed  and  lighted 
room,  and  then  left  them. 

Seated  before  the  great  fire,  yet  with  her  face 
turned  eagerly  towards  the  door  as  though  watching 
for  him,  he  saw  her  once  again— saw  the  woman  he 
had  loved  so  long,  the  woman  whom  Fate  had  parted 
him  from.  She  was  thin,  now,  almost  to  attenuation— 


362 


DENOUNCED. 


she,  whose  supple,  graceful  figure  had  once  been  one  of 
her  greatest  charms — so  thin  that  she  looked  more 
like  a  child  that  was  unwell  than  a  grown  woman,  and 
on  her  face  there  were  no  roses  now. 

"  Kate,"  he  exclaimed,  advancing  swiftly  to  her  as 
she  held  out  her  thin  worn  arms  to  him,  and  falling  on 
his  knee  beside  her — "  Kate,  my  darling,  I  have  come 
back  at  last ;  am  free  once  more  !  Kate,  nothing  can 
part  us  now." 

For  answer  she  let  her  head  droop  to  his  shoulder 
and  lie  there.  It  seemed  to  her  that  at  last  perfect 
peace  had  come,  that  all  the  black  and  dreadful  past 
was  gone  and  done  with  for  ever;  then  she  whispered: 
"  Nothing  part  us !  Oh,  my  dear,  my  love,  there  is 
one  parting  more  only  to  be  made ;  then — then — we 
shall  meet  to  never  part  again.  Bertie,  you  have  come 
in  time,  yet  too  late — too  late  for  this  world." 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  it  shall  not  be  !  Kate,  do  not 
leave  me  now.  Think,  think,  my  darling,  of  how  long 
we  have  waited,  of  all  that  has  separated  us  so  long, 
and  that  now  there  is  no  longer  any  barrier  between 
us.  Think  of  the  dreary  months  in  prison,  months 
that  I  counted  day  by  day,  hoping,  praying  ever  to  get 
free  and  come  back  to  you  ;  think  how  brave  you  have 
been,  always  waiting  for  me.  O  Kate,  my  sweet,  do 
not  go  and  leave  me  now  alone !  "  and  as  he  spoke  he 
wept,  and  buried  his  head  upon  her  lap. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  stroking  his  head  and  noticing 
how  grey  and  grizzled  it  was  now,  though  he  was  still 
so  young  a  man — "  nay,  do  not  weep,  Bertie.  You 
are  too  strong  to  shed  tears,  too  strong  and  brave.  It 
was  your  strength  and  manhood  I  loved  so  much,  was 
so  proud  of.  Do  not  weep  now ;  for  it  is  best,  Bertie, 
best  so." 


"  LOVE   STRONG   AS   DEATH  '  "  363 

"  Best !  "  he  answered  almost  fiercely,  and  raising 
his  head  as  he  did  so,  while  she  with  one  wan  hand  put 
back  softly  from  his  forehead  the  brown  locks  flecked 
with  grey.  "  Best  !  How  can  it  be  best ;  how,  how  ? 
O  Kate,  think,  think  of  all  our  hopes  formed  so  long 
ago,  the  hopes  of  happy  years  to  come  to  be  passed 
together ! — the  hopes  that  we  should  grow  old  to- 
gether, and  then,  together  at  the  end,  share  one  calm 
and  peaceful  grave.  My  darling,  those  years  are  still 
before  us  ;  I  cannot  lose  you  now.  Stay,  stay  with  me! 
Remember  all  our  plans  formed  in  the  days  of  the  Rue 
Trousse  Vache,  the  days  when  we  wandered  forth 
hand  in  hand  together.  Oh,  stay  with  me,  my  darling, 
stay  ! " 

It  appeared  as  if  the  rose-blush  came  back  into  her 
cheeks  at  his  whispered  prayer,  as  if  a  new  life  was 
dawning  for  her  again.  Then  she  murmured  : 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  it  seems  as  though  I  must  not  leave 
you  now.  Bertie,  I  will  stay  with  you,  if  I  may — if 
God  will  let  me  !  " 


24 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 
The  Reward  offered  by  Charles  Edward. 

"Whereas  we  have  seen  a  certain  scandalous  and  malicious 
paper,  published  in  the  stile  and  form  of  a  proclamation,  bearing 
date  the  ist  instant,  wherein,  under  pretence  of  bringing  us  to  jus- 
tice, like  our  royal  ancestor  King  Charles  I  of  blessed  memory, 
there  is  a  reward  of  thirty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  promised  to 
those  who  shall  deliver  us  into  the  hands  of  our  enemies,  we  could 
not  but  be  moved  with  a  just  indignation  at  so  insolent  an  attempt. 
And  though  from  our  nature  and  principles  we  abhor  and  detest  a 
practice  so  unusual  among  Christian  princes,  we  cannot  but  out  of 
a  just  regard  to  the  dignity  of  our  person,  promise  the  like  reward  of 
thirty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  to  him  or  those  who  shall  seize  and 
secure,  till  our  further  orders,  the  person  of  the  Elector  of  Hanover, 
whether  landed,  or  attempting  to  land,  in  any  part  of  his  Majesty's 
dominions.  Should  any  fatal  accident  happen  from  hence,  let  the 
blame  lie  entirely  at  the  door  of  those  who  first  set  the  infamous 
example.  CHARLES,  P.  R. 

"Given  in  our  camp  at  Kinlocheill,  August  the  22nd,  1745. 

"  By  His  Highness's  command.  Jo  MURRAY." 

Headed. — Charles,  Prince  of  Wales,  etc.,  Regent  of  the  King- 
dom of  Scotland,  England,  France,  and  Ireland,  and  the  dominions 
thereunto  belonging. 

NOTE  B. 
Jesuit  Priests  in  England. 

A  long  proclamation  was  issued,  headed  "  George  R.,"  and  dated 
December  6,  1745,  which,  after  threatening  all  kinds  of  penalties 
against  those  who  knew  of  Jesuit  priests  being  in  England,  or  those 
who  harboured  them,  continued  : 

364 


APPENDIX.  -ge 

"  We,  for  the  better  discovering  and  apprehending  of  such  Jesuit 
and  Popish  priests,  do  by  this  our  royal  proclamation,  by  and  with 
the  advice  of  our  Privy  Council,  strictly  charge  and  command  all  our 
judges,  justices  of  the  peace,  magistrates,  officers,  and  other  our  loyal 
subjects,  that  they  do  use  their  utmost  care  and  endeavour  to  dis- 
cover, apprehend,  and  bring  to  trial,  all  Jesuit  and  Popish  priests, 
except  such  Popish  priests,  not  being  our  natural  born  subjects,  as, 
by  the  law  of  this  our  realm,  are  permitted  to  attend  foreign  minis- 
ters." A  reward  of  one  hundred  pounds  for  every  such  priest  was 
offered. 

NOTE  C. 
The  Duke  of  Cumberland's  Vengeance  after  Culloden. 

Extract  from  a  letter  written  by  an  officer  in  the  King's  army : 
"  The  moor  was  covered  with  blood,  and  our  men,  what  with 
killing  the  enemy,  dabbling  their  feet  in  the  blood,  and  splashing  it 
about  one  another,  looked  like  so  many  butchers." 

A  gentleman  named  George  Charles,  who  wrote  an  accurate  his- 
tory of  the  rebellion,  also  says :  "  Vast  numbers  of  the  common 
people's  houses  or  huts  were  likewise  laid  in  ashes ;  all  the  cattle, 
sheep,  and  goats  were  carried  off;  and  several  poor  people,  especially 
women  and  children,  were  found  dead  on  the  hills,  supposed  to  be 
starved.  Even  places  of  worship  were  not  exempt  from  the  ravages 
of  the  unprincipled  soldiery  ;  several  mass-houses  about  Strathbogie 
were  pulled  down  by  them  ;  some  non-jurant  Episcopal  meeting- 
houses were  likewise  burnt  and  destroyed,  and  they  were  generally 
shut  up  all  over  the  kingdom.  The  commander-in-chief  was  at  this 
time  amusing  himself  and  his  staff  with  foot  and  horse  races." 

NOTE  D. 
The  Bastille. 

In  presenting  the  Bastille  to  the  readers  of  these  pages  exactly  as 
it  was  according  to  every  authority  on  the  subject — although  in  con- 
siderable opposition  to  the  usually  accepted  and  melodramatic  and 
transpontine  ideas  on  the  fortress — I  do  not  feel  that  I  have  robbed 
Romance  of  any  of  her  charms.  The  true  Bastille  offers  the 
fictionist  quite  as  much  opportunity  for  his  powers  as  the  fusty, 
tawdry  thing  which,  under  its  name,  has  heretofore  done  duty  in 
its  place. 


366  DENOUNCED. 

The  Bastille  was  never  the  place  of  indescribable  horrors  which 
fictionists  and  dramatists  have  contrived — "out  of  their  own  heads," 
as  the  children  say — to  represent  it  ;  indeed,  I  may  truthfully  assert 
that  I  have  never  read  a  description  yet  of  the  place  in  fiction,  nor 
seen  a  representation  of  the  place  in  drama,  which  could  by  any  pos- 
sibility have  approached  very  near  accuracy.  And  this  is  the  more 
extraordinary,  because  there  are  something  like  forty  authorities 
who  may  be  referred  to  on  the  subject,  including  among  them  such 
men  as  the  Due  de  Richelieu  and  Voltaire,  both  of  whom  had  in 
their  time  been  prisoners  in  it. 

In  truth,  the  Bastille  was  more  a  house  of  detention  than  any- 
thing else,  and  in  many  cases  was  regarded  as  a  shelter  or  harbour 
of  refuge  from  outside  storms.  Instances  are  frequent  of  men  peti- 
tioning to  be  sent  there  to  escape  their  enemies,  and  of  others  re- 
fusing to  come  out  and  be  forced  to  meet  their  enemies.  More- 
over, if  a  young  man  of  fashion  contracted  debts  or  low  amours,  or 
gambled,  or  was  too  intimate  with  undesirable  women — as  was  the 
case  with  the  Due  d'Estrees,  the  Due  de  Mortemart,  the  Comte 
d'Harcourt,  and  others — nothing  was  more  common  than  for  his 
father  to  pack  him  off  to  the  Bastille,  accompanied  by  his  tutor  and 
his  valet.  Also,  the  Bastille  was  often  regarded  by  the  Parisians  as 
a  suitable  object  for  poking  fun  at.  Voltaire,  after  having  been  in- 
carcerated there  for  objecting  to  being  thrashed  by  the  Chevalier  de 
Rohan  for  being  a  poet,  told  Louis  XV,  when  he  promised  to  provide 
for  him,  that  "  he  trusted  his  Majesty's  provision  would  not  again 
include  board  and  lodging."  Another  poet,  referring  to  the  moat 
round  the  fortress,  delivered  himself  of  the  lines : 

Que  vois-je  dans  ce  marecage 

Digne  de  curiosite, 

Se  tenir  sur  sa  gravit6 
En  citadel  de  village  ? 
A  quoi  sert  ce  vieux  mur  dans  1'eau  ? 
Est-ce  un  aqueduc,  un  caveau  ? 
Est-ce  un  reservoir  de  grenouilles  ? 

And  Langlet  du  Frosnoy  (an  abbe  and  a  most  prolific  writer,  who 
passed  half  his  life  in  various  prisons,  and  died  at  eighty  by  tum- 
bling into  the  fire  while  reading  a  book)  used  to  take  his  papers,  his 
snuff,  and  his  nightgown  off  to  the  Bastille  when  rearrested,  and 
calmly  go  on  with  his  work  there  on  being  once  more  locked  up. 
As  regards  the  surrender  of  the  Bastille  (for,  as  Marmontel  truth- 


APPENDIX.  367 

fully  says,  it  was  only  threatened  with  siege  and  never  really  be- 
sieged) in  1789,  and  the  release  of  the  "unhappy  prisoners,"  it  may 
be  mentioned  that  there  were  but  seven  of  them  there,  and  that  one 
was  an  imbecile  Englishman  named  Whyte,  whose  friends  had  had 
him  shut  up  to  keep  him  out  of  harm's  way.  Four  of  the  others 
were  common  forgers  awaiting  trial ;  the  sixth  was  the  Comte  de 
Solages,  detained  at  the  request  of  his  family  and  on  their  paying  his 
expenses  ;  and  the  seventh  was  Tavernier,  a  man  who  had  conspired 
against  the  late  King.  No  record  of  torture  being  practised  in  the 
Bastille — after  the  middle  ages — can  be  found ;  while,  as  for  food, 
the  Kings  allowed  so  fair  a  sum  to  each  prisoner — generally  one  hun- 
dred sols,  or  five  francs,  a  day— that  often  the  latter  petitioned  that, 
instead  of  so  many  meals,  they  might  be  allowed  some  of  the  money 
for  other  things.  In  the  case  of  a  prince  of  the  blood,  fifty  livres  a 
day  were  allowed  ;  for  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  one  hundred  and 
twenty  were  granted.  Discipline  had,  however,  to  be  maintained, 
and  where  the  "  guests  "  were  too  obstreperous  they  were  sometimes 
confined  alone  in  dark,  solitary  cells,  instead  of  being  in  rooms  with 
others  for  companions.  Latude,  who  has  been  regarded  as  a  martyr, 
was  frequently  punished  for  swearing,  roaring  so  that  people  outside 
could  hear  him,  and  "  playing  the  devil,"  to  use  the  words  of  the 
officials ;  yet  he  was  allowed  tobacco,  seeds  for  the  birds  he  was 
permitted  to  keep,  new  clothes  when  he  asked  for  them,  fur  gloves 
to  keep  his  hands  warm,  and  almost  whatever  food  he  desired. 
Allegre,  who  escaped  from  the  Bastille  with  him  and  was  retaken, 
was  also  a  troublesome  man  ;  he  broke  all  the  windows,  china,  and 
pottery  in  his  room  daily,  and  tore  up  his  mattresses  and  shirts, 
"  which  cost  the  King  twenty  francs  each,"  and  his  pocket-handker- 
chiefs. He  died  mad  at  last  at  Charenton,  did  not  know  Latude, 
who  went  to  see  him,  and  told  everyone  that  he  was  God. 

The  instrument  of  torture  found  in  the  Bastille  on  its  fall  turned 
out,  when  regarded  by  intelligent  people,  to  be  a  small  printing 
press  left  behind  by  one  Fran?ois  Lenormand,  who  had  been  per 
milled  to  have  it  in  his  room  for  occupation ;  also  a  billiard  table 
was  discovered  which  was  provided,  the  year  before  the  Bastille 
surrendered,  for  the  amusement  of  the  "prisoners"! 
cells  "  which  have  furnished  so  much  matter  for  powerful  writing, 
were  "the  ice  houses"  in  which  wine,  meat,  and  fish  were  s 
In  truth,  the  "King's  furnished  apartments"  seem  to  have  been 
far  from  unpleasant  abode  to  many,  as  the  Abbe  de  Mehegan  a< 


368 


DENOUNCED. 


knowledged  when  his  mother  implored  the  King  to  keep  him  there 
as  long  as  possible,  because  he  was  so  dissolute  and  extravagant  and 
such  a  terror  to  all  the  girls  in  his  parish. 

Of  course,  in  the  days  of  Louis  XIV  and  Louis  XV  some  pris- 
oners were  detained  for  long  periods,  and  one  there  was  who  was 
detained  the  same  length  of  time — forty-four  years — as  I  have  ac- 
corded to  De  Chevagny.  Falmy's  case  was  also  possible  in  Louis 
XV's  reign.  But  in  Louis  XVI's  first  year  the  Bastille  was  cleared 
of  all  but  Tavernier  and  some  others  whose  trial  was  close  at  hand, 
and  even  the  revolutionists  acknowledged  that  no  "  court "  victim 
had  been  incarcerated  during  that  unhappy  King's  reign.  The  last 
man  to  enter  the  Bastille  was  one  Reveillon,  a  furniture  dealer,  and 
he  did  so  at  his  own  request,  and  with  a  demand  for  the  rights  of 
"  sanctuary,"  as  his  fellow-workmen  were  destroying  his  house  in  the 
Faubourg  St.  Antoine  because  he  had  used  defamatory  language 
against  them  I  and  he  was  afraid  for  his  life. 

Terrible,  therefore,  as  the  Bastille  was,  as  a  place  in  which  one 
might  be  detained  for  an  indefinite  period,  it  was  not  what  it  has 
hitherto  been  represented  ;  yet,  as  I  have  said,  it  formed  a  sufficiently 
gloomy  abode  in  which  to  secrete  such  characters  as  Bertie  Elphin- 
ston  and  Fordingbridge  when  such  secretion  was  rendered  necessary 
in  the  interests  of  my  narrative. 

The  descriptions  of  the  Bastille  have  been  gathered  by  me  from 
the  accounts  of  the  spy,  Constantin  de  Renneville,  who  was  a  pris- 
oner for  eleven  years,-and  who,  when  released,  went  to  London,  and 
was  there  assassinated  by  an  unknown  hand  ;  of  the  adventurer, 
Jean  Louis  Carra,  who,  after  writing  odes  of  praise  upon  the  fall  of 
the  Bastille,  perished  at  the  hands  of  the  republicans  ;  of  the  Due 
de  Richelieu,  who,  when  a  very  old  man  of  ninety,  could  not  resist 
visiting  the  place  where  he  had  been  three  times  confined  when  a 
very  young  one  ;  and  of  Voltaire,  who  had  had  considerable  experi- 
ence of  its  hospitality,  having  been  sent  there  twice ;  and  of  many 
other  authors  of  the  past  and  present. 

NOTE  E. 
Arrest  of  Charles  Edward. 

The  arrest  of  Charles  Edward  took  place  under  precisely  similar 
circumstances  to  those  which  I  have  described,  with  one  exception, 
namely,  that  it  was  carried  out  on  his  quitting  the  opera  house  in 


APPENDIX. 


369 


the  Palais  Royal  instead  of  outside  his  own  house  on  the  Quai  des 
Theatins,  and  it  was  from  behind  the  kitchen  of  the  Palais  Royal 
that  he  was  taken  away  in  a  hired  cab.  I  have  transposed  the  arrest 
to  the  latter  spot  to  suit  the  requirements  of  the  story.  The  Due  de 
Biron  took  part  in  it,  against  his  will,  in  the  capacity  of  colonel-in- 
chief  of  the  guards.  He  was  the  least  celebrated  of  the  many  Dues 
de  Biron,  of  whom  a  French  writer  said  "  all  were  celebrated  and 
some  notorious." 


THE    END. 


APPLETONS'   TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY. 

PUBLISHED    SEMIMONTHLY. 

1.  The  Steel  Hammer.    By  Louis  ULBACH. 

2.  Eve.    A  Novel.    By  8.  BARING-GOULD. 

3.  For  Fifteen  Years.    A  Sequel  to  The  Steel  Hammer.   By  Lona  ULBACH 

4.  A  Counsel  of  Perfection.    A  Novel.    By  LUCAS  MALET. 

5.  The  Deemster.    A  Romance.    By  HALL  CAUSE. 

5^.  The  Bondman.    (New  edition.)    By  HALL  CAINB. 

6.  A  Virginia  Inheritance.    By  EDMUND  PENDLETON. 

7.  Ninette :  An  Idyll  of  Provence.    By  the  author  of  Ve'ra. 

8.  "  The  Right  Honourable.'1'1  By  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY  and  Mre.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

9.  The  Silence  of  Dean  Maittand.    By  MAXWELL  GBAT. 

10.  Mrs.  Lorimer :  A  Study  in  Black  and  White.    By  LUCAS  MALET. 

11.  The  Elect  Lady.    By  GEORGE  MACDONALD. 

12.  The  Mystery  of  the  "  Ocean  Star."    By  W.  CLARK  KUSSELL. 

13.  Aristocracy.    A  Novel. 

14.  A  Recoiling  Vengeance.    By  FRANK  BARRETT.    With  Illustrations. 

15.  The   Secret  of  Fontaine-la- Croix.    By  MARGARET  FIELD. 

16.  The  Master  of  Rathkelly.    By  HAWLEY  SMART. 

17.  Donovan :  A  Modern  Englishman.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

18.  This  Mortal  Coil.    By  GRANT  ALLEN. 

19.  A  Fair  Emigrant.    By  ROSA  MULHOLLAND. 

20.  The  Apostate.    By  ERNEST  DAUDET. 

21.  Raleigh  Westgate ;  or,  Epimenides  in  Maine.    By  HELEN  KENDHICK  JOHNBON. 
23.  Arius  the  Libyan.    A  Romance  of  the  Primitive  Church. 

23.  Constance,  and  Calbofs  Rival.    By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 

24.  We  Two.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

25.  A  Dreamer  of  Dreams.    By  the  author  of  Thoth. 

26.  The  Ladies'1  Gallery.    By  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY  and  Mrs.  CAMPBKLL-PRAED. 

27.  The  Reproach  of  Annesley.    By  MAXWELL  GRAY. 

28.  Near  to  Happiness. 

29.  In  the  Wire  Grass.    By  Louis  PENDLETON. 

30.  Lace.    A  Berlin  Romance.    By  PAUL  LINDAU. 
30}.  The  Black  Poodle.    By  F.  ANSTBY. 

31.  American  Coin.    A  Novel.    By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 

32.  Won  by  Waiting.    By  EDNA  LTALL. 

33.  The  Story  of  Helen  Davenant.    By  VIOLET  FANE. 

34.  The  Light  of  Her  Countenance.    By  H.  H.  BOYESEN. 

35.  Mistress  Beatrice  Cope.    My  M.  E.  LE  CLERC. 
30.   The  Knight-Errant.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

37.  In  the  Golden  Days.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

38.  Giraldi  ;  or,  The  Curse  of  Love.    By  Ross  GEORGE  BERING. 

39.  A  Hardy  Norseman.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

40.  The  Romance  of  Jenny  Hatiowe,  and   Sketches  of  Maritime  Life.    By  W. 

CLARK  RUSSKLL. 

41.  Passion's  Slave.    By  RICHARD  AsHE-KiNo. 

42.  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

43.  Countess  Loreley.    Translated  from  the  German  of  RUDOLF  MENGER. 

44.  Blind  Love.    By  WILKIE  COLLINS. 

45.  The  Dean's  Daughter.    By  SOPHIE  F.  F.  VEITCH. 

46.  Countess  Irene.    A  Romance  of  Austrian  Life.    By  J.  FOGERTY. 

47.  Robert  Brownings  Principal  Shorter  Poems. 

48.  Frozen  Hearts.    By  G.  WEBB  APPLBTON. 

49.  Djetmbek  the  Georgian.    By  A.  G.  VON  SUTTNER. 

EQ.  The  Crazeof  Christian  Engelhart.    By  HENRY  FAULKNER  DARNELL. 

51.  Lai.    By  WILLIAM  A.  HAMMOND,  M.  D. 

52.  Aline.    A  Novel.    By  HENRY  GREVILLE. 

53.  Joost  Avelingh.    A  Dutch  Story.    By  MAARTEN  MAARTENB. 

54.  Katy  of  Catoctin.    By  GEORGE  ALFRED  TOWNSEND. 

55.  Throclanorton.    A  Novel.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL. 

56.  Expatriation.    By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 
67.  Geoffrey  Hampstead.    By  T.  S.  JAHTIS. 


APPLETONS1  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY.— (Continued.) 

58.  Dmitri.    A  Romance  of  Old  Russia.    By  F.  W.  Bain,  M.  A. 
59   Part  of  the  Property.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

60.  Bismarck  in  Private  Life.    By  a  Fellow-Student. 

61.  In  Low  Relief.    By  MOBLET  ROBERTS. 

62.  The  Canadians  of  Old.    A  Historical  Romance.    By  PHILIPPE  GASPE. 

63.  A  Squire  of  Low  Degree.    By  LII.T  A.  LONG. 

64.  A  Fluttered  Dovecote.    By  GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENN. 

65.  The  Nugent*  of  Carriconna.    An  Irish  Story.    By  TIGHE  HOPKINS. 

66.  A  Sensitive  Plant.    By  E.  and  D.  GERARD. 

67.  Dofia  Luz.    By  JUAN  VALERA.    Translated  by  Mrs.  MARY  J.  SEBHANO. 

68.  Pepita  Ximenez.   By  JUAN  VALERA.    Translated  by  Mrs.  MARY  J.  SERRANO. 

69.  The  Primes  and  their  Neighbors.    By  RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

70.  The  Iron  Game.    By  HENRY  F.  KB  EN  AN. 

71.  Stories  of  Old  New  Spain.    By  THOMAS  A.  JANTIER. 

72.  The  Maid  of  Honor.    By  Hon.  LEWIS  WINGPIELD. 

73.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Storni.    By  MAXWELL  GRAY. 

74.  Consequences.    By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 

75.  The  Three  Miss  Kings.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

76.  A  Matter  of  Skill.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

77.  Maid  Marian,  and  Other  Stories.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL. 

78.  One  Woman's  Way.    By  EDMUND  PENDLETON. 

79.  A  Merciful  Divorce.    By  F.  W.  MAUDE. 

80.  Stephen  EUicott's  Daughter.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDELL. 

81.  One  Reason  Why.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

82.  The  Tragedy  of  Ida  Noble.    By  W.  CLARK  RUPSELL. 

88.  The  Johnstown  Stage,  and  other  Stories.    By  ROBERT  H.  FLETCHER. 

84.  A  Widower  Indeed.    By  RHODA  BROUGHTON  and  ELIZABETH  BISLAND. 

85.  The  flight  of  a  Shadow.    By  GEORGE  MACDONALD. 

86.  Love  or  Money^.    By  KATHARINE  LEE. 

87.  Not  Att  in  Vain.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

88.  It  Happened  Yesterday.    By  FREDERICK  MARSHALL. 

89.  My  Guardian.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

90.  The  Story  of  Philip  Methuen.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDELL. 

91.  Amethyst :  The  Story  of  a  Beauty.    By  CHRISTABEL  R.  COLERIDGE. 

92.  Don  Braulio.    By  JUAN  VALEBA.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 

83.  The  Chronicles  of  Mr.  Bitt  Williams.    By  RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

94.  A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream.    By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

95.  "  La  Bella  "  and  Others.    By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 

96.  "  December  Roses."    By  Mrs.  CAMPBELL  PHAEE. 

97.  Jean  de  Kerdren.    By  JEANNE  SCHULTZ. 

98.  Etelka's  Vow.    By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

99.  Cross  Currents.    By  MARY  A.  DICKENS. 

100.  His  Life's  Magnet.    By  THEODORA  ELMPLIE. 

101.  Pausing  the  Love  of  Women.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDEIX. 

102.  In  Old  St.  Stephen's.    By  JEANIE  DRAKE. 

103.  The  Berkeley  s  and  their  Neighbors.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEA  WELL. 

104.  Mono,  Maclean,  Medical  Student.    By  GKAHAM  TRAVBRS. 

105.  Mrs.  Bligh.    By  RHODA  BROUGHTON. 

106.  A  Stumble  on  the  Threshold.    By  JAMES  PAYN. 

107.  Hanging  Moss.    By  PAUL  LINDAU. 

108.  A  Comedy  of  Elopement.    By  CHRISTIAN  REID. 

109.  In  the  Suntime  of  her  Youth.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

110.  Stories  in  Black  and  White.    By  THOMAS  HARDY  and  Others. 
110J.  An  Englishman  in  Paris.    Notes  and  Recollections. 

111.  Commander  Mendoza.    By  JUAN  VALERA. 

112.  Dr.  Pautt's  Theory.    By  Mrs.  A.  M.  DIEHL. 

113.  Children  of  Destiny.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELI,. 
114  A  Little  Minx.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

115.  Capt'n  Davy's  Honeymoon.    By  HALL  CAINK. 

116.  The  Voice  of  a  Flower.    By  E.  GERARD. 

1 17.  Singularly  Deluded.    By  SARAH  GRAND. 

118.  Suspected.    By  LOUISA  STRATENUS. 

119.  Lucia,  Hugh,  and  Another.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDELL. 
ISO.  The  Tutor's  Secret.    By  VICTOR  CHERBULIBZ. 


APPLETON8'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY  .-(Continued.) 

121.  From  the  Five  Rivers.    By  Mrs.  F.  A.  STEEL. 

122.  An  Innocent  Impostor,  and  Other  Stories.    By  MAXWELL  QBAT. 

123.  Ideala.    By  SARAH  GRAND. 

124.  A  Comedy  or  Masks.    By  ERNEST  DOWSON  and  ARTHUR  MOOBE 

125.  Selict.    By  FBANCBB  MACRAE. 

126.  Dodo :  A  Detail  of  the  Day.    By  E.  P.  BENSON. 

127.  A  Woman  of  Forty.    By  KSMB  STUART. 

128.  Diana  Tempest.    By  MART  CHOLMONDELEY. 

129.  The  Reciptfor  Diamonds.    By  C.  J.  CUTCLIFFE  HYNB. 

130.  Christina  Chard.    By  Mrs.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

131.  A  Gray  Eye  or  So.    By  FRANK  FBANKFOBT  MOORE. 

132.  Earlscourt.    By  ALEXANDER  ALLABDTCE. 

133.  A  Marriage  Ceremony.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

134.  A  Ward  in  Chancery.    By  Mrs.  ALEXANDER. 

135.  Lot  IS.    By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

136.  Our  Manifold  Nature.    By  SABAH  GRAND. 

137.  A  Cosily  Freak.    By  MAXWELL  GRAY. 

138.  A  Beginner.    By  RHODA  BBOUGHTON. 

139.  A  Yellow  Aster.     By  Mrs.  MANNINGTON  GAFFYN  ("  IOTA"). 

146.  The  Rubicon.    By  E.  F.  BENSON. 

141.  The  Trespasser.    By  GILBERT  PARKER. 

142.  The  Rich  Miss  Mddell.    By  DOROTHEA  GERABD. 

143.  Mary  FenwicWs  Daughter.    By  IEATRICK  WHITBY. 

144.  Red  Diamonds.    By  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY. 

145.  A  Daughter  of  Music.    By  G.  COLMOBE. 

143.  (Outlaw  and  Lawmaker.    By  Mrs.  CAJJPBELL-PRAED. 

147.  Dr.  Janet  of  Barley  Street.   By  ARABELLA  KINEALY. 

148.  George  MandeviUe  s  Husband.    By  C.  E.  RAIMOND. 

149.  Vashti  and  Esther. 

150.  Timor's  Two  Worlds.    By  M.  JOKAI. 

151.  A  Victim  of  Good  Luek.    By  W.  E.  NORRIS. 

152.  The  Trail  of  the  Sword.    By  GILBERT  PARKER. 

153.  A  Mild  Barbarian.    By  EDGAR  FAWCETT. 

154.  The  God  in  the  Car.    By  ANTHONY  HOPE. 

155.  Children  of  Circumstance.    By  Mrs.  M.  CAFFYN. 
J56.  At  the  Gate  of  Samaria.    By  WILLIAM  J.  LOCKE. 

157.  The  Justification  of  Andrew  Lebrun.     By  FRANK  BARRETT. 

158.  Dust  and  Laurels.    By  MARY  L.  PENDEBED. 

159.  The  Good  Ship  Mohock.    By  W.  CLABK  RUSSELL. 

160.  Noemi.    By  8.  BARING-GOULD. 

161.  The  Honour  of  Savelli.    By  8.  LEVETT  YEATS. 

162.  Kitty's  Engagement.    By  FLORENCE  WARDEN. 

163.  The  Mermaid.    By  L.  DOUGALL. 

164.  An  Arranged  Marriage.    By  DOBOTHEA  GEBARD. 

165.  Eve's  Ransom.    By  GEORGE  GISSING. 

166.  The  Marriage  of  Esther.    By  GUY  BOOTHBY. 

167.  Fidelis.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

168.  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges.    By  F.  F.  MONTRESOH. 

169.  The  Vengeance  of  James  I'ansittart.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDEU.* 

170.  A  Study  in  Prejudices.    By  GEOBGE  PASTON. 

171.  The  Mistress  of  Quest.    By  ADELINE  SERGEANT. 

172.  In  the  Tear  «f Jubilee.    By  GEORGE  GISSING. 

173.  In  Old  New  England.  By  HEZEKIAH  BUTTERWORTH. 

174.  Mrs.  Musgrave—and  Her  Husband.    By  R.  MABSH. 

175.  Not  Counting  the  Cost.    By  TASMA. 

176.  Out  of  Due  Season.     By  ADELINE  SERGEANT. 

177.  Scytta  or  Charybdis?    By  RHODA  BROUGHTON. 

178.  In  Defiance  of  the  King.    By  C.  C.  HOTCHKISS. 

179.  A  Sid  for  fortune.    By  GUY  BOOTHBY. 

180.  The  King  of  Andaman.    By  J.  MACLABBN  COBBAK. 

181.  Mrs.  Tregaskiss.    By  Mrs.  CAMPBBLL-PBAED. 

182.  The  Desire  of  the  Moth.    By  CAPEL  VANE. 

183.  A  Self-Denying  Ordinance.    By  M.  HAMILTON. 

184.  Successors  to  the  Title.    By  Mrp.  L.  B.  WALFORD. 


APPLETONS1  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY.-(  Continued,-) 

183.  The  Lost  Stradivarius.    By  J.  MEADE  FALKNER. 

186.  The  Wrong  Man.    By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

187.  In  the  Day  of  Adversity.    By  J.  BLOUNDELLE-BURTON. 

188.  Mistress  Dorothy  Marvin.    ByJ.  C.  SNAITH. 

189.  A  Flash  of  Summer.    By  Mrs.  W.  K.  CLIFFORD. 

190.  The  Dancer  in  Yellow.    By  W.  E.  NORRIS. 

191.  The  Chronicles  of  Martin  Hewitt.    By  ARTHUR  MORRISON. 

192.  A  Winning  Hazard.    By  Mrs.  ALEXANDER. 

193.  The  Picture  of  Las  Cruces.    By  CHRISTIAN  REID. 

194.  The  Madonna  of  a  Day.    By  L.  DOUGALL. 

195.  The  Riddle  Ring.    By  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY. 
136.  A  Humble  Enterprise.     By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

197.  Dr.  Nikola.    By  GUT  BOOTHBT. 

198.  An  Outcast  of  the  Islands.    By  JOSEPH  CONRAD. 
193.  The  King's  Revenge.    By  CLA  ODE  BRAY. 

200.  Denounced.    By  J.  BLOUNDELLE-BURTON. 

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GEORG  EBERS'S  ROMANCES. 

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In  the  Blue  Pike.  A  Romance  of  German  Life  in  the  early  Sixteenth  Century. 

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In  the  Fire  of  the  Forge.    A  Romance  of  Old  Nuremberg.    Translated  by 

MARY  J.  SAFFOUD.    ii  volumes. 

Cleopatra.    Translated  by  MARY  J.  SAFFORD.    2  volumes. 
A  Thorny  Path.    (PERASPERA.)    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.    2  volumes. 
An  Egyptian  Princess.    Translated  by  ELEANOR  GROVE.    2  volumes. 
Uarda.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     2  volumes. 
Homo  Sum.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.    1  volume. 
The  Sisters.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.    1  volume. 
A  Question.    Translated  by  MARY  J.  SAFFORD.    1  volume. 
The  Emperor.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.    2  volumes. 
The  Burgomaster's  Wife.     Translated  by  MARY  J.  SAFFORD.    1  volume. 
A  Word,  only  a  Word.     Translated  by  MARY  J.  SAFFORD.    1  volume. 
Serapis.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     1  volume. 
The  Bride  of  the  Nile.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.    2  volumes. 
Margery.    (GRED.)    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.    2  volumes. 
Joshua.    Translated  by  MARY  J.  SAFFORD.    1  volume. 

The  Elixir,  and  Other  Tales.     Translated  by  Mrs.  EDWARD  H.  BELL. 
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"  Georg  Ebers  writes  stories  of  ancient  times  with  the  conscientiousness  of  a 
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CLEOPATRA.     Translated  from  the  German  by  MART  J.  SAFFOHD 
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A  THORNY  PATH.    (Per  Aspera.)    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 

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AN   EGYPTIAN    PRINCESS.      Translated  by  ELEANOR  GROVE. 
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TIARDA.     Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     2  volumes. 
HOMO   SUM.     Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     1  volume. 
THE   SISTERS.     Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     1  volume. 
A  QUESTION.     Translated  by  MARY  J.  SAFFORD.     1  volume. 
THE   EMPEROR.     Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     2  volumes. 
THE     BURGOMASTER'S    WIFE.       Translated    by   MART    J. 
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A  WORD,  ONLY  A  WORD.      Translated  by  MART  J.  SAFFORD. 

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SERAPIS.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     1  volume. 

THE    BRIDE    OF    THE    NILE.      Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 

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MARGERY.     (Gred.)     Translated  by  CLARA  BELL.     2  volumes. 
JOSHUA.     Translated  by  MART  J.  SAFFORD.     1  volume. 
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